Everything Changes
by Glow
Summary: Answer to a challenge. Tristan and Rory were friends. Now they can't have a conversation without a fight. What happened? [Updated 20.10.2007]
1. The Beginning Is The End

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Pairing: Rory/Tristan

Rating: PG-13 for some swearing. 

Spoilers: Anything that has aired in the U.S./Canada thus far. I'm sort of putting my selective memory to good use. Season 1 happened just as it did on T.V. but I'm picking and choosing the things that happened. For example Jess is there, but Tristan never got into trouble and banished to that crappy show. Oops. I mean "military school," of course. The fact that they're both in North Carolina is sheer coincidence.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters. They are the property of Amy Sherman-Palladino, Dorothy Parker Drank Here Productions, Warner Brothers and others who have far more money than a high-school senior with a part-time job at Wal-Mart (me) does. No infringement is intended. 

Authors Notes: This is a response to a challenge found at (the dearly missed) Trory Addiction. The summary for the challenge reads as follows:

_ ****_

Summary: Tristan and Rory have become best friends over time and are basically inseparable until winter of their senior year, when an everyday problem tears (or has torn, this should probably be after the fact) them apart to the point where they can't even speak to one another without fighting. At one time Rory knew Tristan liked her but she's pretty sure he doesn't anymore. What happens when Rory finally admits she loves him, and did while they were best friends to Tristan himself?

There's a few conditions, but I'm not going to write them even though most of you know what they are. Suspense, hello?

All right. So this is my second longer GG fic. I'm a little nervous about this one, because this challenge has been a hot topic among the FF Trories and I hope I don't disappoint anyone, considering that I sort of hijacked it from another author.. Feedback of any kind is greatly appreciated. On with the story. 

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This is a revised version of the original first chapter. Nothing major is changed, so you don't have to reread it. It's a little more grammatical (thanks in large part to the great and powerful Roxy, and I so need to quit it with _The Wizard of Oz _references, huh?) with a few additions here and there, basically just adjusted and (hopefully) improved. Enough babble from me.

Everything Changes

Part One: The Beginning Is The End

**__**

June - Senior Year  


He had watched her. All night, from the instant she had arrived at Chilton, his eyes had been drawn in her direction. He willed himself to stop; he tried to concentrate on anything but her. Some masochistic part of him couldn't help it. He saw her dance, saw her talk and saw her smile. His car had been behind hers as they drove to Madeline's for the post-graduation party that was set to go on until dawn, free of proud parents. And now he slipped through the glass doors onto the patio. He slid them shut, wincing at the whisper they made as they closed.   
  
Her shoes lay carelessly abandoned on a chair near the door. She paced barefoot in the darkness, lit only when she passed through a beam of light made by the lanterns circling the pool. Her head was tilted upwards towards the stars; her hair, which had been painstakingly pinned up earlier, now hung messily on her bare shoulders.   
  
The pounding music from indoors was muted to a barely recognizable murmur. Tristan continued to watch, unnoticed. He crept closer to her on silent feet.   
  
The girl he had chased, only to be shut down at every attempt. The girl for whom he had put his pride on the line for when he had asked for her friendship. The girl he had spent the last six months trying to convince himself he loathed.   
  
"What are you doing out here, Tristan?" Rory asked in a low voice, her back still to him.  
  
Startled, Tristan could not respond for a moment. He cleared his throat. "I came out here to congratulate you," he murmured finally.  
  
"Congratulate me?" Rory asked softly.  
  
"Yes. On the job you did as President. Everyone was saying that you're one of the best Chilton's ever had."  
  
"Then why didn't you say that when you first came out, instead of standing there, watching me?"  
  
Tristan began a weak denial, "I wasn't--."  
  
"You were," Rory stated without a trace of anger or accusation in her tone.  
  
Tristan knew he had been caught. "How did you know?" he asked.  
  
Rory smiled wistfully. "I always have."   
  
Tristan furrowed his brow and waited for her to explain her cryptic remark but she said nothing. The silence grew heavy but Rory still stood there, the serenity he had observed in her a minute ago still in place.  
  
Tristan shifted his weight uncomfortably. He and Rory hadn't shared many silent moments. In the beginning they had shot witty remarks at each other, his filled with thinly veiled innuendos, hers with righteous indignation. During their year and a half-long friendship, they had argued constantly, albeit teasingly, over everything from music to the proper way to eat tacos. During these last six months, whenever they had been forced to communicate they had done so almost unwillingly. They had either coldly discussed student council issues like strangers or viscously taunted each other, intentionally causing harm. Silence was new.  
  
"This is new," Tristan blurted in an attempt to break the stillness.  
  
"Hmm?" Rory replied vaguely.  
  
"You know-- us-- being civil."  
  
"Oh." Rory's shoulders stiffened.  
  
The tension that Tristan always felt around her recently leaked into the air. He shook his head, angry with himself, at her and their mutual stubbornness. He braced himself and waited for her to let the first insult fly.  
  
She turned toward him and they finally came face to face. She held her head up and stared him straight in the eye, and he saw a fierce determination shining in the blue depths. "We need to talk," she said firmly.   
  
Fear tickled at the back of Tristan's mind. He marveled at how ridiculous that was. Him? Afraid of Rory Gilmore? It was laughable. But the flippant remark that the jaded Tristan would have uttered at the lameness of that line stuck in his throat. He considered her words and the tone in which she had spoken them. Though they had had many conversations, some dripping with resentment and disdain, some that held less warmth than two strangers would have had talking about weather patterns, they hadn't actually "talked" in a very long time. It was of this fact that the other Tristan, the self-deprecating vulnerable one that had once been Rory's close friend, was afraid. Since that stupid fight, they had put miles and miles of distance between them. He was afraid of what would happen if he crossed it. But if Rory was brave enough to see what happened, then he was too.   
  
Tristan ran a hand through his already tousled hair and nodded. "Okay," he agreed. "Let's talk."   


**__**

March - Senior Year  


-She's poisonously pretty / And the unsuspecting fool falls prey / As the dim detective's led astray--   
  
Rory pulled into the Chilton student parking lot singing along to the CD that was blaring from her stereo. She headed to her stall, the best one, right at the front. The spot was one of the perks that came along with being senior class president.  
  
Rory's thoughts were interrupted when she caught a flash of black out of the corner of her eye. Tires squealed, someone slammed on their brakes. Rory was jolted sideways, the seat belt dug painfully into her neck, the disc skipped. She heard the crunch of metal being crumpled. Rory looked out her window and saw that a black BMW had collided with the rear end of her car. Rory felt anger boiling inside of her. Wasn't it just like these spoiled little rich kids to ignore basic driving principles? Look before you turn. If there's an object/person in your way, DON'T TURN! Someone was going to pay for this.   
  
Rory turned off the ignition, yanked open the car door and got out. She straightened her full shoulders and narrowed her eyes menacingly. The small crowd that had gathered noticed her _expression and fell silent, ready for a show.  
  
She stood by the BMW, her fury mounting. She didn't recognize the car and the windows were tinted, so she was only able to make out the outlines of two people in the front seat.   
  
The passenger door opened and a blonde girl slid out. She was in the requisite Chilton uniform and it took Rory a second to put a name to the face. It was Jennie Corcoran, sophomore, captain of the JV cheerleading squad, a girl who thought _Sweet Valley High_ was great literature. Rory's nostrils flared slightly. "That's just swell," she muttered to herself. Jennie giggled and patted down her overly dyed curls. She straightened her skirt and glanced up at Rory. The giggles died in her throat and her eyes flitted about nervously.   
  
Rory felt a pang of guilt and softened her _expression. Jennie was only the passenger and insipidity wasn't enough to hang a person on. Rory managed an insincere smile. The girl returned it brightly and leaned back into the car for her backpack. With a tiny wave that could have been construed as apologetic, that is if Rory had any faith that Jennie could spell "apologetic", she turned toward the building.  
  
Rory turned her attention towards the crowd. The arrogant prick of a driver had yet to honor her with the pleasure of yelling at him, and she was beyond pissed. In a forceful, even tone, she addressed the entire group, "Don't you have classes to prepare for?" After a few glares from Rory, and a few quiet, disgruntled protests, the crowd turned away. They knew the tone. It was remarkably reminiscent of the one they heard when their credit cards got taken away.  
  
Once the parking lot was deserted except for Rory, the car door opened. One expensive, perfectly polished leather shoe hit the ground and Rory saw the bottom half of an immaculately pressed gray pant leg. A hand, holding a cigarette, appeared on top of the open door and the driver pulled himself out of the car, revealing the loosely knotted tie and messy blonde head of Tristan DuGrey. Leaning on the roof, Tristan DuGrey smirked lazily. "Morning, Mary."  
  
Rory's already red face flushed anew. She felt her teeth grinding together and she stepped back slightly so she was no longer forced to tilt her head up to look him in the eye. She waited for him to speak. Apologize for hitting her car or something. But he simply stood there, taking long drags on his cigarette and watching her frostily.   
  
Rory forced her fists to unclench and her body to relax. If he wanted to act like that, then she would to. "New car?" she started off innocently.   
  
"It is," Tristan answered cautiously.  
  
"What," she asked snidely, "instead of learning how to use the gas pumps like the rest of us, you decided to buy a new car?"  
  
"It was a present from my father," he told her, his tone clipped.  
  
"Oh," Rory's lip curled in distaste and her words dripped venom, "let me guess, while on a 'business trip,'" she made finger quotes to mock the words, "with the latest nubile secretary, he had a momentary guilt trip and sent wittle Twistan a brand new toy?" Rory watched his eyes. His _expression kept its cold indifference, but in his eyes she could see the stab of pain as her words hit their mark. She immediately felt guilty, but she refused to let it show.  
  
"Something like that," Tristan replied nonchalantly. He flicked his cigarette butt away and slammed his car door shut. "So," he gestured to their cars, "looks like we had a little fender bender."  
  
Rory let out a short laugh. "No, Tristan, 'we' did not have anything. _You_ ran into my car because _you_ don't know how to drive. Did Daddy buy your license along with your acceptance to Chilton?"  
  
"No. That probably would have been easier. Turns out the woman who gave me the road test had a thing for younger guys."  
  
"Whatever." Rory was quickly losing her temper and she dug her nails into her palms. "Here's what's going to happen. _I_ am going to call a tow truck. _They_ are going to take my car back to Stars Hollow, where a mechanic will fix it. Then _I_ am going to send the bill to _you_, parts, labor and whatever the hell else it'll take to return _my_ car to the shape it was in when I left my house this morning. _You_, or more accurately your father, are going to pay the bill because _you_ couldn't bother to look before turning. 'Kay?"  
  
"You're usually not here until later," Tristan attempted to defend himself.  
  
"Oh," Rory began sarcastically, "well then it's perfectly fine that you mutilated my car."  
  
"Aw," Tristan wiped an imaginary tear from his eye, "you could just ask farmer Dean to open up another Cracker Jack box and get you a new one."  
  
Rory counted to ten in her head and resisted the urge to smack him over the head. "Tristan," she snapped, "I am so sick of your shit. _You_ hit _my_ car, for Christ's sake."  
  
"So? I thought Miss Independent Rory didn't like it when other people spent money on her."  
  
"Do you really want to rehash that again?"   
  
Tristan rolled his eyes. "Fine. Send me the bill."  
  
"Great. Have a nice day."  
  
"You too." Rory turned to leave. "Oh, and Rory?" he called out cheerfully, and she stopped but didn't turn. She heard him get back into his car. "See you at the staff meeting!"  
  
Rory resisted the urge to stomp her feet, or to swear like a sailor, or throw her calculus textbook through his window. She took a deep breath, in through the nose, out through the mouth, and walked up to the front doors to start her day at Chilton. 

**__**

  
June - Junior Year  


Tristan sat at the Gilmore's kitchen table; notes and textbooks, pens and highlighters were scattered around him. Outside the sun was setting, and inside Rory paced the six steps across her kitchen, "I don't know!" she wailed. "How can I not know? Our final is tomorrow!"  
  
Mildly amused at her hysteria, Tristan watched her pace. She was about two seconds away from pulling out her hair. "Rory," he started in his best soothing tone, "you do so know. You had this down an hour ago. We have to move onto ecology. Now when does crossing over occur?"  
  
"Metaphase one?" she asked tentatively.  
  
He raised an eyebrow in her direction. "Are you asking me or are you telling me?"  
  
Rory mimicked his _expression. "Are you my friend or my self-help guru?"  
  
"Rory, don't be difficult."  
  
"Fine," she rolled her eyes, "I'm telling you."  
  
"Then I'm your friend."  
  
"Tristan!"  
  
"Fine, fine. You're right."  
  
Rory's eyes lit up. "Really?" Tristan nodded and Rory threw her arms up in the air, "I   
rule!"  
  
Lorelai walked into the kitchen sorting envelopes. "The world? Not yet. Bide your time, my child."  
  
"Today biology, tomorrow the world."  
  
"So really it's a well thought out, multi-step plan?"  
  
"Pretty much," Rory agreed.  
  
Tristan listened to them patiently. He had been a friend of Rory's for nearly a year, and the way she and her mother talked no longer seemed strange to him. He glanced at the clock and was surprised to see how late it was.   
  
Lorelai followed his gaze to the monkey-shaped clock on the wall. "Have you two eaten?"  
  
Rory checked the time as well. "I didn't realize how late it was," she admitted.  
  
"Well, unless you want cup-a-soup and peanut butter, we should go out. Al's?"  
  
Tristan grimaced. "I don't think I've recovered from the last time."  
  
Lorelai giggled. "We probably should have warned you that 'pancake' meant 'various cultural cuisine, rarely identifiable by the layman', huh?"  
  
"It would have been nice."  
  
"But we're not nice," Rory reminded him.  
  
"That's true," Lorelai agreed. "Then we go to Luke's?"   
  
Rory glanced at Tristan, and he nodded agreeably. Then she turned to her mother. "Luke's it is. We wouldn't want do deprive you of your coffee or your daily flirt."  
  
"My what?" Lorelai repeated.   
  
"Don't act so innocent. You're like Scarlett O'Hara on acid."  
  
"Rory!" Lorelai exclaimed. "How dare you say that!"  
  
"You.re like one of those birds with the big, pointless feathers--"  
  
"A peacock," Tristan supplied.  
  
"Yes! One of those, and you're all, 'Look at my feathers!' Classic pre-mating isolation   
mechanism."  
  
"Okay," Tristan interjected. "No more bio for you." But he was ignored.  
  
"You used to be such a sweet girl," Lorelai told her daughter.  
  
"I still am," Rory said loftily.  
  
"No," Lorelai turned towards Tristan and narrowed her eyes, "you've been corrupted."  
  
Tristan held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "I have no part in this."  
  
"Come on. Mom, let's go."  
  
Lorelai turned away from Rory slightly and held her nose in the air. "Tristan, tell my daughter that I am not speaking to her until she retracts her erroneous statements."  
  
"I'll get Jess to put extra cheese on your fries," Rory wheedled.  
  
Lorelai's eyes widened. "How much extra?"  
  
"I'll tell him we don't even want to see the fries."  
  
"You've got yourself a deal, missy."  
  
Rory shook her head. "You're so easy."  
  
"It's sad, isn't it?" Lorelai agreed. "Clog my arteries, and I'll follow you to Texas."  
  
"What's wrong with Texas?"   
  
"I did the big hair thing in the eighties," said Lorelai, as if that explained it all.  



	2. The Real Cheap and Evil Girl

Disclaimer, rating and information about spoilers can be found in the first chapter.

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Notes: First of all thanks for the reviews, everyone! I apologize for the tiny bit of confusion. When I first posted Part One I screwed up a time change. It has since been fixed. 

I think I confused some people so I'll go into a little bit of an explanation. Tristan and Rory became friends. It hasn't been said how yet, but I'll get to that in a later part. They had a big nasty fight (when, or about what also hasn't been specified. I'm attempting some suspense) and now there's huge amounts of bitterness and animosity on both sides. I can't think of a way to explain the Rory realizing she loves Tristan part without giving away part of the story. You'll just have to wait and see! Suffice it to say that in March of senior year she hasn't woken up to smell the proverbial coffee. That's why she isn't very nice.

This chapter deviated a little from what I had in my head. I decided that poor, not so bright little Jennie wouldn't suit my purposes. Another character however suits them quite well.

More thanks to Roxy, who patiently reads everything I send her, and to the FF Trories who have been so very awesome.

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Once again, this part has been altered slightly. The song is called "The Cheap and Evil Girl" and is by Bree Sharp (of "David Duchovny" fame) who is a really great artist. Special thanks to AngelGrace at FF for introducing me to her music way back when on the music thread. As with the characters, I own no part of it, because if I did I'd be writing songs now, wouldn't I?

Part Two: The _Real_ Cheap and Evil Girl  
  
_March - Senior Year  
_

Rory stalked through the halls of Chilton on her way to her locker. She saw Paris coming at her, the tape recorder that was permanently attached to her hand outstretched and her "I'll get a quote if I have to beat the source" _expression firmly in place.  
  
Rory looked at the ground, contemplating an escape. She wished fiercely that Paris would, by some miracle, ignore her. Unfortunately, Paris stopped directly in front of Rory. "Has the student council decided which charities to which they want to donate the proceeds of the senior fund-raiser yet?" she asked without further preliminaries.  
  
Rory rolled her eyes, easily stepping around the shorter girl. Paris quickened her strides in order to keep her tape recorder in Rory's face. Rory began talking, "Good morning, Paris. How are you, Paris? How did you do on Morton's history test, Paris?"   
  
Since Rory had been elected President, she had grown accustomed to Paris's badgering. She never liked to give in too easily. Rory reached her locker and twirled in the combination to open it, still not looking at Paris and still not answering her question.  
  
Paris tossed her hair over her shoulder impatiently. She waited for a few seconds, but Rory continued opening her locker as though Paris were invisible. Finally, in a bored tone, Paris spoke, "Good morning, Rory. Fine, Rory. I got an A+, Rory."  
  
Rory smiled triumphantly. "Those were called pleasantries. It's a custom in civilized society to use a few of them before annoying a person." Paris simply glared. "Fine. Be that way. No, the student council has not decided which charities the senior fund-raiser will benefit. We are not yet certain what the senior fund-raiser will be. There's a meeting after school today when those and other details will be decided upon."  
  
"Can I sit in?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"Because last time you asked a million questions and scared our secretary. You tried to stage a mutiny when I finally asked you to leave."  
  
"It's not my fault Brad's afraid of me," Paris said, purposefully ignoring the other parts of Rory's statement.  
  
"It is so your fault. And Brad is an excellent secretary. I can't have him switching schools again."  
  
"But the people have a right to know."  
  
"We're in high school, Paris"  
  
"Your point?"  
  
"The people don't really care."  
  
"But the admissions people at Harvard will. I can't put out a substandard paper just because you want an uneventful meeting."  
  
Rory rubbed her temples. She was not in the mood to argue with Paris. "You know, while I appreciate that our relationship has grown beyond acrimonious competition, my morning has been less than stellar so far, and I haven't even gone to first period. There is no way you are coming to the meeting. I will stand here and argue about it with you, but I really don't want to. So could you please, as my friend, do me a favor and go Kenneth Starr someone else?"   
  
"What happened?"  
  
"Someone ran into my car in the parking lot."  
  
"Really?" Paris probed, her reporter senses tingling.  
  
"Why would I make that up?"  
  
"Because you, as an only child, crave attention?"  
  
"You're really enjoying AP Psych, aren't you, Paris?"  
  
"Don't change the subject. Who hit you?"  
  
"Who?"  
  
Rory cringed. Paris had tried on numerous occasions to get the story behind Rory and Tristan's animosity. Rory had refused to tell her anything but was uncertain as to what the tenacious girl had gotten out of Tristan himself. She weighed her options. She could tell Paris now and risk an endless stream of leading questions. Or Paris could find out from someone else, and Rory would be besieged with questions later. While neither option was particularly attractive, Rory chose door number two.  
  
Rory closed her locker and glanced at her watch, "I still have to call a tow truck before class." She began to inch away from Paris. "See you later!"  
  
"You're avoiding the question, Gilmore," she raised her voice to Rory's retreating form. "You know Madeline's just going to fill me in later!"  
  
"True," Rory muttered to herself, "but later is better than now."  


* * * * *  


"Tris!" He turned and saw Jennie's head bobbing through the crowd.  
  
Tristan flinched at the nickname but pasted a smile on his face. He turned around to face Jennie. "Hey, Jen."  
  
She giggled and bounced onto her toes to give him a kiss on the lips. She threw her arms around his shoulders. "I missed you!"  
  
A couple of his friends passed by and whistled. Tristan carefully extricated himself from her grasp. "Missed me? I saw you fifteen minutes ago."  
  
"Really?" she asked, genuinely surprised.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Oh." She blushed. "Anyway, my parents left for Prague last night. I thought we could head over there after school. My nanny doesn't get home from her boyfriend's until eight. I just bought a new bikini; we could heat up the hot tub--"  
  
"Sorry," Tristan cut her off abruptly. "Student council meeting. Remember?"  
  
"You could come by after," she pointed out.  
  
"I could. But I have this huge history test tomorrow, and I really need to do well," he lied easily.  
  
Jennie was silent for a moment. When she looked back up at him, her eyes held a wounded accusation. "I thought that was yesterday."  
  
"It was," Tristan covered smoothly. "Morton gives tests constantly. You'll understand when you get him."  
  
"Okay." The doubt in her eyes disappeared. "Some other time then?"  
  
"Sure."  
  
She gave him one final kiss and with a perky little wave, she plunged into the pre-first bell melee. Tristan leaned his head against his locker briefly. Why in the world had he ever asked her out? She was beginning to cling, and it was grating on his nerves. He shook his head slightly. He had asked her out because that was what he did. He used innocent, slightly dim sophomores in his twisted rich-boy games. At least, that's what he told himself.  
  
He turned in the direction of his next class and shut his locker door. He jumped back slightly when he saw who was hidden behind it.   


* * * * *  


"Independence Inn, how may I help you?"   
  
"Michel, can you put my mother on?"  
  
"Of course I can, child. It's not like she's here to work, anyway."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
"What is wrong with you?" he asked.  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"You, like your mother, enjoy torturing me. You didn't. You were polite. You said 'thank you' as if you had been raised by normal people."  
  
"I love the world today," she said sarcastically.  
  
Michel sighed. "One moment please." Rory heard a click and soft music came across the line.  
  
"What's the matter?" her mother's voice asked the second she picked up.  
  
"I have to remember not to be polite to Michel ever again."  
  
"You were polite to Michel?"  
  
"How'd you know something was the matter?"  
  
"You're calling me at work, in the morning, when you're supposed to be at school. I figured you'd taken a detour into Tijuana and needed me to bail you out of a Mexican jail."  
  
"And how would I have gotten to Tijuana in an hour?"  
  
"Fairy dust," Lorelai told her.  
  
"I'm afraid I was fresh out this morning."  
  
"Drat. All right, so you were polite to Michel. Which is bad, since the only way to keep him from going off to follow his dreams of being a fashion designer, leaving me bell boy-less, is to keep his self-esteem low."  
  
"So you've told me."  
  
"Now, not to be redundant, but what's the matter?"  
  
"I'll be a little late getting home tonight. I have to take the bus."  
  
"What happened to your car? Did the popular kids hide it?"  
  
"No. There was an incident."  
  
"What kind of incident?"  
  
"The kind in which I get hit by another car while parking mine."  
  
"Who hit you? I'll hunt the overprivileged brat down and smear 'em with Alpo."  
  
"I'm never letting you talk me into a Drew Barrymore marathon ever again."  
  
"Breathe. Just breathe."  
  
Rory rolled her eyes and continued quickly. "It was Tristan. Call the garage and have them come pick it up for me please. Gotta go. Love you, bye!" Rory hung up the phone before her mother could ask questions. The bell rang. She was going to be late. Today was just not her day.  


* * * * *  


"Hello, Tristan."  
  
"Uh, hey, Summer," he greeted her cautiously. To say that Tristan was shocked to see her would be an understatement. After she had cheated and dumped him in front of half of Chilton sophomore year he had avoided her.   
  
She had tried to get him back at the beginning of junior year, but Tristan had not been interested. Summer, not used to being rejected, had treated Tristan like a particularly repugnant stranger after that. Then last summer he had had a fairly nasty confrontation with her at her parents' annual Fourth of July party. She had been hitting the blueberry schnapps a little too hard and had gone into a very un-Summer-like rage.  
  
He looked her up and down. She was leaning against the locker next to his, smiling seductively. The top four buttons on her blouse were undone and she was playing with her hair. He narrowed his eyes, recognizing her tactics. Summer was after something.   
  
She nodded slightly in the direction Jennie had disappeared in. "Sophomore cheerleaders? Has Tristan DuGrey really sunk that low?"  
  
Tristan rubbed the back of his neck impatiently. "What do you want, Summer?"  
  
The first bell rang and the few students who remained in the hallway scattered. Summer waited until the hall was deserted. She grasped his tie and pulled gently. "Come with me and find out."  
  
She pulled him along and Tristan had no choice but to follow her. She stopped and pulled out a key. She released him. He took a step back. "I should get to class."  
  
"Screw class. Trust me, Tristan," she unlocked the door and pushed it open and walked inside, "what I have planned for you is far more scintillating."   
  
Tristan hesitated, then walked in after her. She shut and locked the door behind them and moved toward the center of the room. Summer apparently had held on to the key to the janitor's closet that she had stolen two years ago. The two of them had spent many ditched classes in there together. She had her back to him as he glanced around. Nothing much had changed. "Why exactly am I in here, Summer?"  
  
She turned towards him and he could see that she was quickly undoing the buttons to her Chilton blouse. Tristan raised an eyebrow condescendingly. "Don't you have a boyfriend?"  
  
"Yes. But that didn't stop you before."  
  
"Touché."  
  
Summer walked up to him and he backed away. It was only when his back hit the door that he stopped. She continued to approach him. She stopped just before her body collided with his. "We," she trailed a finger across his lips, "are going to have some fun. Like old times." Summer sank her hand into his hair and pulled him closer to her. Tristan closed his eyes and tried to forget that the girl in front of him was a lying, cheating witch. She kissed him and her blouse hit the floor. Tristan didn't protest.   


* * * * *  


"Rory!"  
  
Rory turned around to see whoever was calling her name. It was Madeline with Louise and Paris close behind. Rory turned quickly, pretending she hadn't seen or heard, but they caught up to her anyway. "So it was Tristan who ran into you this morning," Paris stated.   
  
"That's right."  
  
"I hear there was a pretty nasty scene," Louise interjected smoothly.  
  
"Where did you hear that? No one was around."  
  
"Chastity Naylor was making out with Austin in his car a few stalls down. She gave us all the gory details."  
  
That's just--" they were interrupted as the door across the hall opened and banged shut noisily. The four girls glanced over and saw a rumpled looking Summer. She whipped a mirror out of her purse. She reapplied her lipstick and smoothed down her hair. She snapped the compact shut and smiled at Paris, Madeline and Louise.   
  
"Hey, ladies. Gilmore." She shot an extra malicious smile at Rory and strolled away.  
  
"Hey, Summer?" Paris called before she was out of earshot.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"You missed a button." Rory, Louise and Madeline smothered their giggles.   
  
"Thanks," Summer said icily.  
  
"Anytime," Paris told her sweetly and Summer huffed and walked away. "I really, really hate her."  
  
"Okay. Did you see the look she gave me?" Rory asked. "What was that about?" A second later the door opened again, and they looked over expecting to see Summer's latest boyfriend. Four mouths dropped open when it was Tristan who appeared, shrugging his Chilton blazer on. He caught sight of them and gave a guilty smirk before hurrying away down the hall. "I have to go to class," Rory said suddenly and left without another word.  
  
"Rory!" Paris called out after her but Rory didn't seem to hear her. "Why does Tristan insist on doing everything in his power to complicate his life?"  
  
Louise sighed. "I don't know. But it looks like Summer has finally gotten what she's been after."  
  
Paris narrowed her eyes at the blonde. "What are you talking about?"  
  
Madeline sighed and rolled her eyes at her less informed friend. "You remember Summer's Fourth of July, right?"  
  
"Of course. Little Miss Perfect there got trashed and knocked the caterers' table into the pool. It was one of the highlights of my break."  
  
"Right," Madeline agreed. "But afterwards--"

**__**

July - Before Senior Year  


Summer marched furiously into her house, wringing out her hair. The water had sobered her up a little and her mother's words had helped some more. "Honestly, Summer, act like a lady. Must you insist on disappointing us?" Summer mimicked her mother's fake, slightly British-sounding accent with cruel accuracy.  
  
"Enjoying yourself?"  
  
Summer whirled on the voice, intent on taking her anger out on someone else. The words died when she saw that the speaker was none other than Tristan DuGrey. God, how she loathed him. Her mouth twisted and her eyes narrowed and suddenly her face was ugly in its malice. "Hello, Tristan. Where's Saint Rory?"  
  
"She didn't come. Her mother refused to accept the invite. Apparently she can only stand three snob parties a year. I'm heading to her town for their festival right now."  
  
"I'm shocked that she left you off your leash for so long."  
  
"What's that supposed to mean?" Tristan asked, not offended but merely curious.  
  
Summer flung her wet hair off of her face and laughed. "That's a good one, Tris. It means that you've let her change you. She's turned you into her goody two shoes bitch and you don't even care. You used to be someone, one of us. You used to be cool. And now?" She snorted derisively. "Now you're nothing."  
  
"Oh really? Then why'd you throw yourself at me last year?" Tristan smirked at her and began to saunter away. "Tell your parents that I had a lovely time, will you?" And he was gone.  
  
"Augh!" Summer let out a scream of frustration. She swept her arm across the mantle, flinging its contents on to the hardwood floor. All of the expensive, perfectly coordinated decorations and pictures shattered instantly. All except one. It was a fairly recent photo of her parents, taken at a charity function. Their faces smiled at her, mocking her. Not for long. She smashed the heel of her sandal down on it, right across her mother's face and watched as the spidery cracks obliterated the illusion of perfection.   


**__**

March - Senior Year  


"No way," Louise said in disbelief. "Summer? She never gets angry like that. She's like Frosty the Snow Slut. How come you never told me?"  
  
Madeline shrugged, "I have my reasons. You know how her parents told everyone she was visiting cousins in London for the rest of the summer?"  
  
"So?" asked Paris.  
  
"She didn't go to London. Her parents sent her to a rehab clinic in Arizona."  
  
"That doesn't explain why you never told us," Louise pointed out.  
  
"There's gossip, then there's blackmail material," Madeline explained.  
  
"And now may be the time to use that blackmail material," Paris finished. She had to admit, she was impressed. She didn't always give Madeline enough credit.  
  
"Precisely. She hates Rory for the Tristan thing and for beating her in the student council elections. I'm sure she'll take every opportunity to rub her little closet escapade in Rory's face."  
  
"And we wouldn't want that. I'll have a conversation with her at lunch." Paris' eyes gleamed in anticipation. She was going to have a little fun.  


* * * * *  


Summer was at her locker, brushing her hair. Paris walked up behind the door and slammed it shut, not caring that she nearly took Summer's hand off. "What?" Summer snapped indignantly.  
  
"I saw you come out of that closet today."  
  
"Oh? Are you jealous?"  
  
"No," Paris answered frankly. "That's the difference between you and me. I realized that Tristan and I were never going to happen and moved on. I suggest you do the same."  
  
"Really? And why would _I_ take _your_ suggestion?"  
  
"How was London, Summer?"  
  
"What does my vacation have to do with this?" Summer asked, wary at the sudden topic shift.  
  
"It occurred to me today that you were pretty tan for someone who had spent two months in England."  
  
"We had beautiful weather."  
  
"London never has beautiful weather. Arizona on the other hand--"  
  
Summer paled visibly and she lowered her voice, "How did you know?"  
  
Paris smirked. Did it still count as a selfless deed if it was really, really enjoyable? "I just do. And if you breathe one single word about Tristan's," she paused, "mistake, I guarantee you that every single person in this school will also know about your struggle for sobriety."   
  
"You wouldn't," Summer said, her voice lacking certainty.  
  
"Try me." Paris turned on her heel and strode confidently through the hallway, knowing Summer was staring after her and gaping.  


* * * * *

  
Rory walked to the classroom that served as the student council's meeting place. She came directly after the bell, even though the meeting didn't start for another half hour. She was planning on getting at least part of her chemistry homework done. She hadn't expected anyone else to be there. Immediately after walking in she noticed Tristan slumped in one of the desks by the window.   


**__**

September - Senior Year  


Rory shot a glance at him out of the corner of her eye. His chin was propped up on his hand as he stared aimlessly out the window. She waved a hand in his direction discreetly, but he didn't notice. Rory's eyes rolled involuntarily. Why did she always have to make friends with the broody ones?   
  
"Tristan," she whispered urgently. He still didn't seem to notice her. She tore a scrap of paper out of her notebook and balled it up tightly. Taking careful aim, she launched it. It struck him in the cheek and he sat up, startled. His hand jerked and his textbook hit the floor with a thud.   
  
Mrs. Kendall looked up from her desk. "Mister" she consulted her seating chart, "DuGrey? Is there something you'd like to share with the class?"  
  
Tristan ignored the giggles of his classmates and answered calmly, "No, ma'am." The teacher narrowed her eyes, but she went back to grading papers. Once her attention was focused elsewhere, Tristan turned to Rory. "What?" he mouthed.   
  
Rory opened her mouth to answer, but she wasn't willing to get into trouble so early in the year. She held up a finger, signaling for him to wait. She scribbled on the top edge of her paper and held it up for him to read. "Are you coming on Saturday? Sookie needs to know how much food to make."  
  
He bent down to write on his own paper. "Doesn't Sookie always make too much anyway?"  
  
"Tristan!" she wrote, and he could hear her exasperated tone in his head.  
  
"Of course," he wrote back hastily.  
  
Rory smiled and gave him a thumbs up before turning back to her work. As they were heading out of the classroom, Tristan bumped her shoulder teasingly. "Where'd you get such good aim, Mary?"  
  
"Bagel hockey."  


**__**

March - Senior Year  


Rory recovered quickly and regained her stride. Tristan glanced up and watched her. She ignored him. He cleared his throat. Rory refused to even glance his way. "How's your car?" he tried.  
  
"It got to Stars Hollow just fine. Luckily there were no more crappy drivers on the road today."  
  
Tristan got up out of his desk. "God, Rory. You can't just leave the bitchiness on low for awhile, can you?"  
  
"I'm sorry. That wasn't so nice of me," she started sarcastically. "So, how are you?"  
  
"Fine."  
  
"Fine? You'd think a girl like Summer could make a guy a little more than 'fine'."  
  
"I give up."  
  
"I mean really, she's slept with what? Half of the senior class? The richest half, of   
course."  
  
"Drop it."  
  
"I kind of feel sorry for poor little Jennie. I mean, she's probably chatting to all her little sophomore friends about how great you are. She's saying, 'Tristan is so dreamy!' and 'Have you seen his hair? Not even Justin Timberlake has hair like that.' Then by this time tomorrow, she'll be crying her eyes out after Summer spills about your little joint foray into the janitorial arts. And you're only 'fine'. Most guys would be skipping and singing about sunshine, lollipops and rainbows"  
  
"I said, drop it."  
  
"Why, Tristan? Does the truth hurt? Does your black little heart ache with the realization that you've screwed over an innocent girl figuratively by screwing your ex-girlfriend literally?"  
  
Tristan was silent.  
  
"Yeah," Rory said bitterly. "That's what I thought."  
  
A few student council members entered, putting an immediate end to the conversation. With one last glare in Tristan's direction, Rory forced herself to smile at them. "So, any ideas on the fundraiser?"

****


	3. It's Not A Matter Of You vs Me

Disclaimer, rating and information about spoilers can be found in the first chapter.

Notes: So, yes part three is here after a very long delay. Sorry about that, but school and work and a whole bunch of other stuff has made my life particularly busy. Apparently universities only accept people with good grades and volunteer hours and are rather expensive. The injustice. Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, some of them were particularly interesting. I'm looking for a way to integrate the Mary/Rhoda argument.

Oh, if you hadn't noticed, the first two parts of this story were recently revised slightly. Nothing major, the plot points are all the same so it isn't necessary to re-read. The song used in this part and for the title is "My Favorite Game" by The Cardigans. 

****

Part Three: It's Not A Matter Of You vs. Me

__

April - Senior Year  


Rory glanced at the clock above the door. Seven minutes until the bell rang. Thirty seconds since the last time she had looked at the clock. Time really dragged when one was doing calculus. Which is appropriate, what with calculus being the opposite of fun.  
  
The door opened, and one of the office messengers slipped in. Rory's teacher, Mrs. Moor, looked at the note messenger handed her, slipped on her glasses and then read it. She glanced up and her eyes sought out Rory (third row, center), and she smiled kindly. "Miss Gilmore? You're wanted in the office."  
  
Unbidden, the theme song of _Saved By the Bell_ began in Rory's head (When I wake up in the morning--). She shook her head slightly, smiled politely and quickly gathered her things. She slipped out of the room, wishing Mrs. Moor a good weekend automatically, and made her way down the hall to the office. Now, a few years ago, she would have been mildly alarmed. She would have been wondering what she could have possibly done to be called down to the office, but since being elected to the student council, she had become accustomed to being pulled out of class. Being president often involved working closely with the administration. She wasn't even intimidated by Headmaster Charleston anymore. Well, as unintimidated as you could be of a man who could crush your dreams with a single phone call, anyway.  
  
Ignoring that last thought and its infinite freak out potential (she wasn't Paris, after all), Rory pushed open the door leading to the outer office. The latest secretary (Headmaster Charleston went through secretaries like her grandma went through maids) glanced up and asked, "Are you Rory Gilmore?" Rory nodded and the secretary, Lucy Brennan, according to the nameplate, glanced down at the papers before her. "The headmaster wants to see you. He said to let you right on in."  
  
"Thank you." Rory slipped past the desk and knocked on the headmaster's door. She waited a few moments, then she heard the footsteps. The door swung open, and Headmaster Charleston greeted her warmly, "Miss Gilmore! Nice to see you. I have some good news."  
  
He stepped aside to let her pass. "Thank you sir. I can't wait," she paused almost imperceptibly as Tristan (ever the gentleman) rose from the leather chair in front of the headmaster's desk as she entered, "to hear the news," she finished casually. "Hello, Tristan," she greeted in a tone that, while not exactly warm, was practically tropical compared to what it would have been had an authority figure not been present.  
  
Tristan matched her tone, polite but not friendly, "Rory, how are you?"  
  
"Fine, thank you." Rory seated herself and Tristan followed suit. "I am curious though," she said turning her attention to Headmaster Charleston and ignoring Tristan. "What the news is?"   
  
The Headmaster seated himself and folded his hands on his desk. He was actually smiling, a rare occurrence inside the halls of Chilton, though her grandmother insisted he was quite the golf course comedian. "Due to the hard work and creativity the both of you displayed in organizing this years fund-raiser, it was a monumental success."  
  
Rory blushed at the phrase and smiled modestly, opening her mouth to speak, but Tristan beat her to the punch. "Thank you, sir. But I must say, it was mostly Rory. We should all be so very proud of her."  
  
Rory was certain that only she could hear the thread of sarcasm in his words. He was subtle that way. She turned to him and smiled icily, and making an effort to keep her tone civil, she replied, "Now, Tristan, don't be modest. We wouldn't have been nearly so successful without your father's generous donation." She smiled sweetly. Too sweetly.  
  
The headmaster, not being one for student gossip, was oblivious to the undercurrents in the room. "Yes, I did thank him personally at the club, Tristan. It was too bad he was away on that business trip, but I suppose that check counts for something."  
  
Tristan clenched his jaw as the headmaster finished Rory's thought, opening an old wound in the process. "Yes, well, his work is very important to him. And it was a very important deal." The words sounded hollow, even to Tristan.  
  
Rory took another glance at Tristan, and that pesky feeling of guilt gnawing at her stomach was back. She bit her lip. She honestly didn't mean to be so cruel to him. She just couldn't seem to help it. He baited her, and she rose to the occasion every time. It was what they always did. It used to be fun. It used to be.  


**__**

December - Senior Year  


"Merry Christmas, Mary!" Tristan walked into the gym hauling a large box of food with him. It was Saturday, and Christmas break had begun the day before, but Rory, Tristan, the rest of the student council, and the more philanthropic Chiltonites were in the gym preparing baskets for "the economically challenged", as the always eloquent Louise put it.   
  
"That was not even remotely clever, Tristan," Rory retorted and looked up. "I expected better from you." She went back to her previous task, wrapping presents.  
  
"Christmas is not a time for clever, Rory," he informed her, placing the box on the ground. "It's a cheesy, overly commercial, formerly meaningful day for people to overeat, and dress their dogs in Santa suits. I hardly see where clever fits in."  
  
Rory wrinkled her nose. "That, my friend, is a sad, sad point of view. How can you possibly say that? What about shopping and wrapping presents? Baking cookies and caroling? Don't you just love waking up in the morning and seeing that pile of presents that you can finally open after all those hours of anticipation?"  
  
"First of all, I'm a guy. We generally don't enjoy shopping. Unless it involves electronic equipment. Or cars. Or manly things like barbecues." Rory snorted inelegantly, a picture of Tristan blowing up his big Victorian house after using too much lighter fluid, like Crankshaft always did in the comics. But her laugh turned into a groan as the intricate bow she was tying fell apart. "Exhibit B," he said, gesturing towards her failed attempt at Martha Stewartism. "No one likes wrapping presents. They never look like the ones the professionals do, so you get frustrated and eventually you give up and buy some of those shiny bags." Rory opened her mouth to protest but Tristan shot her the "don't even bother, you know I'm right" look that she detested, and she decided not to bother. He really seemed to be on a roll. "Third, you do not bake cookies. I've been in your kitchen. You don't even have any flour. Or baking soda. Or any of the other things a person requires when baking."  
  
"Ha!" Rory interjected. "We bake them at Sookie's every year. It's a tradition," she told him smugly.  
  
"Please, I bet Sookie wouldn't let either you or your mother within 10 feet of an appliance. I bet the extent of your baking includes making sure the gingerbread men are properly accessorized and making sure Lorelai doesn't eat too many of them."  
  
Rory's mouth had dropped open a little. She glared at him suspiciously, wondering if he was having her followed. "How do you know all that, exactly? It's creepy."  
  
"You told me last year, remember?"  
  
"No. Besides, I tell you a lot of things. Do you remember every single one?" she joked.  
  
Tristan turned quickly, busying himself with digging through a box, lest she read his face too closely and see that he did, in fact, remember everything. He cleared his throat and managed a laugh he hoped came off as casual. "Of course I do, my dear Rory. All the better to blackmail you with when you're a rich and famous Pulitzer Prize-winning investigative journalist."  
  
Rory, if she noticed the slight change in his demeanor, wisely didn't comment. "Uh-huh. We both know there's more money in your trust fund than I could make in a thousand years."   
  
Tristan knew her words were not meant cruelly so he merely shrugged. "True," he agreed, "but who said I was blackmailing you for money?" We wiggled his eyebrows lasciviously.  
  
Rory groaned and tossed a box of macaroni and cheese in his direction. Tristan ducked just in time, as it flew past his ear. For someone so proudly non-athletic, she had very good aim. "Is sex all you think about?"  
  
"Who ever said I was talking about sex?" he asked calmly. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say that you, Mary, had a dirty mind. I'm shocked and appalled."  
  
"And completely intrigued," Louise drawled from behind them. Both Rory and Tristan were startled. They had almost forgotten that they weren't alone. They looked at Louise. They looked at each other. Rory felt her ears burn a little and wished she hadn't gone with the ponytail. Louise's amusement only grew as she watched them fidget uncomfortably.   
  
"We're done with the first few baskets. We're going to head out to deliver them now," Paris told Rory and Tristan as she walked up to diffuse the situation. Without waiting for a reply, she grabbed Louise by the arm and yanked her away.  
  
"Spoil my fun," Louise pouted when she and Paris were out of range.  
  
Paris rolled her eyes. "Saved your ass is more like it. Tristan would have killed you had you continued where I know your under-stimulated little brain was going."  
  
"True," she smirked, "but what a way to go."  
  
"Anyway...," Rory trailed off awkwardly after Louise and Paris had let the gym.  
  
"Yeah, so what was the fourth point on your list of the merits of Christmas?" Tristan asked, trying to regain the previous lightness.  
  
"Christmas carols, I believe."  
  
"Oh. While I'm sure you actually do that in your quaint little town, that's not nearly enough to restore my Christmas spirit. I have heard you sing, after all, though my brain wishes I could repress that." Tristan mock shuddered for dramatic effect.  
  
"Hey! I-- I'm--." Rory struggled to find a suitable comeback. After a few seconds, she gave up. "You're right about that one. Musical talent is not one of the Gilmore gifts. But what about the presents on Christmas morning? Christmas Day is the only day of the year when we willingly get up before 6 AM."  
  
"I haven't done that in years."  
  
Rory stopped midway through tying a bow. "Get up at 6 AM?"  
  
"No. Open presents Christmas morning."  
  
Now Rory abandoned her wrapping altogether. "Are you serious?" she asked, sure he was kidding. And loudly, as several people turned to look at them.  
  
"Yeah. I mean, my parents aren't winter people. They took to taking off to the Bahamas for Christmas after I stopped believing in Santa Claus. They get back just in time for the big New Year's thing that Madeline's parents throw every year."   
  
Rory stared at him for a full 15 seconds before he looked up and met her gaze. "What?" he asked, honestly perplexed.  
  
"How can you--" she trailed off. "How does that not bother you?"  
  
He bit his lip, considering her question. "It just doesn't. It's not like I'm the only person here whose family is like that. At least I got a few years with the Santa Claus thing. I don't think Louise even realized there was a Santa Claus until Miss Roberts told us about it in Kindergarten."  
  
"That's awful!"  
  
"That's life," he said, dismissing it. "Anyway, it's not like I ever lacked in presents. They'll probably be delivered on Monday. I'm hoping for a pony," he joked in an attempt to reinject some levity into their conversation.  
  
"So you'll just open them right then?" Rory cried incredulously.  
  
"Pretty much."  
  
"No."  
  
"Excuse me?" Tristan asked.  
  
"You heard me. I said no. You're coming to my house for Christmas."  
  
"What? Rory, I couldn't--"  
  
"Shh! It's been decided."  
  
"But--"  
  
"No arguments."  
  
"I--"  
  
"Zip it!"  
  
"Oh no, it's Dr. Evil. Have you traveled back in time to steal my mojo?" Tristan droned sarcastically.  
  
"There you go, Tristan, again with the lameness."  


**__**

April - Senior Year  


Tristan nodded absently as Headmaster Charleston talked on. And on, and on, and on. Years of training had taught him to keep up with a conversation while simultaneously thinking of anything but what was being spoken. He liked to think of it as multitasking. Rory had called it rude. He glanced over at her once again. She had tuned out completely a few minutes ago, which was unlike her. She had admirable patience for these sorts of things and hated to think she could hurt someone's feelings by not giving him her full attention.   
  
"So, you both will be excused from classes tomorrow afternoon."  
  
"Sounds perfect, sir. What do you think, Rory?"  
  
Both Tristan and the headmaster turned to her expectantly. Rory was still thinking of that day during Christmas break. If only things had turned out the way they were supposed to. A Stars Hollow Christmas was supposed to unfreeze Tristan's Scroogy little heart and make him realize the error of his Bah Humbugging ways. If only....   
  
Rory felt two pairs of eyes on her and blinked. One pair was curious, the other a little impatient. "Oh. Excuse me?"  
  
"I was just asking what you thought about the plan for tomorrow?" Tristan asked her again, hoping she had at least caught that mush of Charleston's speech.  
  
Unfortunately for Rory, she hadn't. So she was faced with a dilemma. Should she ask the headmaster to repeat himself, thus proving she wasn't paying attention and risking a lecture, not to mention a considerable delay in her going home plans? Or should she take a page from her mother, nod, smile and agree, getting her out of here but possibly condemning her to something horribly unpleasant, possibly involving Tristan? Decisions, decisions. She glanced at Tristan and his face was blank. Nothing to give away any nefarious plans. She then took a quick mental inventory and noticed that for such expensive seats, they were very, very uncomfortable. So she chose the second option and said, "I think the plan is just fine. I'm looking forward to it."  
  
Charleston leaned back into his chair and smiled. "Excellent! Have a good time, you two!"  
  
Tristan fought back a smirk. Rory had no idea what she had just agreed to. "We will, sir," he replied. "Thank you." He stood and left the room. Rory had no choice but to follow.  
  
The halls were virtually deserted. Rory checked her watch, and sure enough class had let out for the day fifteen minutes ago. She almost wished Headmaster Charleston still disliked her. At least back then he got to the point in a reasonable amount of time.  
  
Tristan looked over at her. "So, I'll see you tomorrow. Bye, Rory!" He turned, not giving her a chance to reply, and began to walk away.  
  
Rory felt her teeth grind together. Now this was not a good situation. For the last couple of months she had been less than nice to Tristan. In the bizzaro world where "less than nice" was synonymous with "antagonistic witch," that is. And now she needed his help. "Tristan." He stopped. "Wait a minute." He turned around to face her, an expectant look on his face, but he didn't speak. Rory took a deep calming breath. He obviously wasn't going to make this easier for her. Then again, he rarely did. Even before she turned into Margo Channing's evil twin. "I sort of spaced out in there. What are we doing tomorrow, again?"  
  
"The great Rory Gilmore spaced out? So she is fallible, after all."  
  
"Can't we be civil for five minutes?"  
  
"I can. I'm not sure about you, though."  
  
Rory bit her tongue. She began a mantra in her head, "I will not be provoked. I will not be provoked." She smiled tightly. "I'll make an effort."  
  
Tristan tapped a finger to his chin, pretending to ponder. "Well, don't try too hard. We don't want to use up our monthly quota of civility before tomorrow."  
  
As her mantra grew louder in her head, Rory ignored all the words that he had spoken before "tomorrow." She gestured for him to keep going, prompting, "And tomorrow we will be...."  
  
"Going to Boston."  
  
"What? Why?"  
  
"You forgot who, where, and when. Some journalist you'll make."  
  
"Why don't you start with the first two?"  
  
"Fine. We are going to Boston tomorrow. The New England Association of Children's Hospitals was very pleased with the donation the senior class made. So they invited you and me, as the organizers, to an afternoon tea thing. Charleston accepted, of course. He loves this sort of thing. So we'll go. Shake some hands, take some pictures, that sort of publicity stuff. Since it's good for the school, Charleston's letting us out of class for the afternoon."  
  
Rory thought for a second. Then she nodded thoughtfully, "That's it? I thought it would be much worse." She paused. "So what time should I meet you in Boston?"  
  
"You won't. We're leaving here together at one."  
  
"Ha! Like Hell."  
  
"Well, yes. It probably will be."  
  
"If you think I'm going to spend time with you, confined in a moving vehicle, your brain is even more damaged than I thought it was."  
  
"I don't think you will. Charleston does. He suggested, in light of our contribution to Greenpeace, that we carpool. Fewer emissions, fewer greenhouse gases and we do our part to prevent global warming. Yippee." Tristan watched as her eyes narrowed and studied him. He kept his face perfectly expressionless. Yes, technically, that part was a lie. Call it a spur of the moment stroke of genius, or possibly temporary insanity.   
  
"Fine," Rory spat out, her position on the subject crystal clear. "I'll see you tomorrow." And without saying goodbye, she turned on her heel and stalked down the hall.   
  
"Yippee," Tristan muttered.

  
* * * * *  


"Hello, you have reached Lorelai Gilmore's cellphone. She can not talk to you right now because she's two feet away from the Luke's diner, home of donuts and pretty mugs--"  
  
"Mom?"  
  
"Oh hey, Rory. I was pretending to be an answering machine. Where are you?"  
  
"Still at Chilton. I had an impromptu meeting."  
  
"Ah. Were their monkeys? Evil space monkeys?"  
  
"Nope. Just my favorite headmaster and Tristan."  
  
"Ooh. Betcha woulda preferred the monkeys, huh?"  
  
"Maybe. But only if they were more Curious George than the flying ones in _The Wizard of Oz_."  
  
"Those," Lorelai agreed, "were some freaky monkeys. Which would be a fabulous band name. Hi, I'm Lorelai, bass player for the Freaky Monkeys."  
  
Rory laughed. "So I'm going to be late. I'll see you at Luke's in about a half an hour?"  
  
"I could meet you at home, if you'd rather go there."  
  
"No, I'll meet you there. That is, if you don't mind sticking around," Rory teased, knowing the answer.  
  
  
"'Kay." Lorelai chose to ignore the subtext. "Hurry!"  
  
"Bye, Mom." Rory hung up the phone and headed toward the parking lot. She climbed in, tossed her backpack and the extra textbook that she couldn't quite make fit onto the passenger seat and started the engine. The stereo turned on automatically.  
  
_--I don't know what you're looking for / You haven't found it, baby, that's for sure--  
_

* * * * *  


Rory pulled open the door to the diner and stepped in. Several people glanced up and smiled at her. Ah, it was good to be home, back where people liked her.  
  
She waved to her Mom and signaled that she was going up to the counter. Jess glanced up as she approached and said, "She would have been exorcised to cast out the evil spirit, and if after many trials that did not work, she would have been burned as a witch for the good of the community."  
  
Rory thought for a second, first of how appropriate his words were, given her Tristan related moment of honesty, then answered, shaking her head, "_East of Eden_. Easy. How little you think of me."  
  
"Correct. And you looked like you could use an easy one. What'll you have?"   
  
"Coffee and apple pie, please."  
  
"Okay. I'll bring it over in a minute."  
  
"Thanks, Jess."  
  
With one last smile, Rory went to sit with her mother. She grabbed a fry off of Lorelai's plate. "So how was your day?" Lorelai asked.  
  
"Ugh. Well, first we had the normal academic torture. Pop quiz in physics. Ignoring that, as that's pretty much the way Chilton is, it was awful."  
  
Lorelai made a sympathetic face. "Really? Ouch."  
  
"Yeah, so I'm sitting in Calculus, and a runner comes in...."  
  
**_The Next Day---  
  
_**"Mom! You have to wake up now." Rory Gilmore stood over her mother, already dressed in her school uniform. Lorelai didn't stir. Rory swiped the pillow from underneath her mother's sleeping head. Lorelai's head bounced on the mattress and she rolled over. "Mom!" Rory wheedled.  
  
Lorelai buried her head underneath one of her blankets. "Five more minutes, Gretchen," she groaned sleepily.  
  
Rory rolled her eyes and grabbed hold of her mother's blankets. In one swift motion she pulled the covers off. She sat on the edge of Lorelai's bed and bounced up and down. "Who's Gretchen? Imaginary friend?"  
  
Lorelai pried her eyelids open and squinted in the morning light. "No. Gretchen was my nanny when I was eight. Evil little woman. She was the one that ate Hansel and Gretel in a past life."  
  
"That's fascinating. Why don't you tell me about it over breakfast?"   
  
"Because I don't wanna get up," Lorelai pouted.  
  
"You have to go to work," Rory pointed out.  
  
"I know the manager. She'll give me the day off."  
  
"I always knew you had multiple personalities."  
  
"Why, yes. There's Trucker Bob, Jane Bond: international woman of mystery and expert fencer, Farmer Joe, Dominatrix Donna--."  
  
"Okay. We'll just stop right there." Rory stood up and walked out of the room. From the stairs she called, "We'll catalogue them over dinner with Grandma! I'm sure she'll be very interested." She paused and waited for a reaction. Lorelai did not respond. "If you're not going to get up, I'm turning off the coffee!"  
  
"But that's not fair!"  
  
"Fair, schmair." Rory heard Lorelai mutter something but couldn't make out the words. "What was that?"  
  
"What was what?"  
  
"You said something."  
  
"Oh. I said, 'You're the bestest daughter in the whole wide world!'"  
  
Rory laughed good-naturedly and went downstairs. She went into the kitchen and started to make breakfast. After pouring the coffee and throwing out the Pop-Tart wrapper, she was finished. She sat down at the kitchen table and began to skim the front page of the paper. As usual, Stars Hollow's headlines were less than scintillating. Today's lead story involved a three-cart pileup in the market.   
  
Lorelai dragged herself into the kitchen and draped herself across a kitchen chair. Rory slid her mug across and Lorelai managed a smile. "Remember, I'm going to be late for dinner tonight, okay?" she reminded Lorelai.  
  
"Right. I know." Lorelai thought for a second. "And for those of us who haven't been paying attention, why is that exactly?"  
  
Rory smirked. "Well, since it's just you and me, and I know I've been paying attention, and obviously you, my loving mother, have been paying attention, there's really no need for me to explain, once again."  
  
"Well yes, but what about the...," Lorelai hedged, "dust bunnies? The dust bunnies are curious."  
  
"Well they wouldn't be if we owned a vacuum cleaner."  
  
"But we don't and they are."  
  
"Your brain is weird, Mom."  
  
Lorelai shrugged. "I know, so why are you going to be late?"  
  
Rory frowned. Talking her mom had temporarily distracted her, but now she remembered. "I have to do that thing in Boston."  
  
"Oh right. How could I have forgotten that? Must have been the sugar coma and the early morning brain fuzz. We only bitched and moaned about the injustice of the world and Headmaster Charleston and stubborn rich boys for six hours last night. Are you going to be okay?"  
  
Rory sighed resolutely. "Sure. It's really not that big of a deal. We'll drive there, hand over the check, take a few pictures, eat some crumpets and drive back. Tristan and I don't really have to talk that much at all."   
  
"That's the spirit! Have as much fun as humanely possible."  
  
"I will." Rory stood and gave her mother a hug. I'll see you later."  


* * * * *  


At precisely 12:55, Rory was in the parking lot, arms crossed, standing next to her car.  
  
Tristan walked out of the building at 12:56.  
  
He reached Rory at 12:57. His numerous groupies needed a few moments of attention. It lengthened the walk.  
  
He stood in front of her and raised an eyebrow. Had he been a few seconds later, he was sure her foot would have begun tapping. He waited for her to speak. She waited for him to speak. Neither did.  
  
At 12:58 Rory rolled her eyes. "Let's just get this over with, shall we? Get in," she said gesturing to the passenger door and moved to the driver's side. Tristan didn't budge. "Is there a problem?" Rory asked impatiently.  
  
"You could say that. We're taking my car."  
  
"No. No we're not. You've shown that you can barely navigate a parking lot, so do you really think I'm going to drive somewhere with you on the highway? No."  
  
"Well I'm not going anywhere in that car, considering it came with assembly instructions."  
  
"You've done it before."  
  
"Well, I'm not doing it now."  
  
"Well, this is a pickle."  
  
They glared at each other. A silent standoff.  
  
The hands on Rory's watch ticked on. She glanced down. 1:01. She shifted her weight and glanced around. Luckily, class began at 12:50. There were no witnesses, which was probably a good thing. There had already been more than a few Rory/Tristan death match public scenes.  
  
"How about we compromise?" Tristan offered.  
  
Rory considered the suggestion. "Hmm. Elaborate," Rory ordered.  
  
"Articulate," Tristan retorted. Rory continued to glare. "Fine. We take my car, but you can drive."  
  
Well, that did solve their problems. "Who controls the stereo?" Rory asked.  
  
"We'll alternate."  
  
"Are there veto privileges?"  
  
"Sure."  
  
Rory shrugged and agreed, "Good enough."  
  
He tossed her his keys and walked over to the passenger side of his car. They both got in and glanced at each other. Tristan looked away first and stared out the window.  
  
As Rory pulled out of the parking lot, she hazarded another look at the clock.   
  
1:03.   
  
It was going to be a long day.


	4. The Forming of a Friendship

Disclaimer, rating and information about spoilers can be found in the first chapter.

****

Notes: Here's part four, after a relatively short delay. Thanks to Roxy, for betaing and thanks to everyone who reviewed! This is a fairly music laden chapter. First song used, "Terrible Thought" by Poe, second we have "Dead Leaves and Dirty Ground" by The White Stripes, third "Ladyfingers" by Luscious Jackson, and "No One Knows" by The Queens of the Stone Age. 

And on a completely unrelated note, I would like to pimp out an awesome show called Firefly. You should watch it. If it gets canceled, I will be very, very sad. Plus, I'm a Trory, so obviously I have good taste, right?

****

Part 4: The Forming of a Friendship…

****

April - Senior Year

"This was a bad idea. A very bad idea," said the voice in Rory's head. But before she could think about the possible repercussions that came with having a voice in your head, another one spoke up, "It's only a few hours, why are you freaking out?" And then another, this one reminding her of Lane, "Where have you been? It's Tristan. At any given moment, Rory's just as likely to strangle him as she is to do something equally inappropriate but much dirtier." 

"What!" Rory exclaimed. And it took her a second to realize that she had spoken that one out loud. And that Tristan was now staring at her like one would a stare at a talking poodle.

"Who were you talking to? Because I didn't say anything."

"Just the voices in my head," she stated calmly.

"Huh," Tristan said, his eyes widening slightly. 

"That doesn't make me crazy, you know. Everyone hears them," Rory informed him.

"Sure," Tristan agreed quickly.

"Will you stop that?" she snapped.

"I'm agreeing with you!"

"No you're not. You're fake agreeing with me. You're doing the 'let's not anger the mental patient thing."

"That's because you're scaring me," he informed her.

Rory laughed despite herself. "I think I'm scaring myself." she spotted an upcoming 7-11. "Can we stop for a few minutes? I need road trip food."

"Fine with me," Tristan agreed, wary of her sudden agreeability.

Rory herself was a little surprised, but her little schizophrenic display had made her realize something. The next six hours of her life (at least) were to be spent in the company of Tristan DuGrey, four of which in a moving vehicle. 

She had limited options. She could either remain a nervous wreck, probably snapping eventually and possibly driving them off the road. Pretty fireballs aside, that option was less than appealing. Or she could call a truce. A six hour détente between the houses of Gilmore and DuGrey. Before all of the ugliness occurred, she had willingly spent time in his presence, enjoyed it, and even looked forward to it. It shouldn't be too hard to do it now, right?

Right.

* * * * *

The interior of the car was completely silent for the next few minutes. Both of its inhabitants were tense. Tristan glanced at Rory from the corner of his eye. Her hands were on the steering wheel (in the perfect 10 and 2 position, of course) in a white-knuckled death grip, and her head was jerking almost imperceptibly from side to side. As if she was talking to herself inwardly, which she probably was. 

Maybe this trip hadn't been such a good idea after all. Maybe Rory's voices told her to burn things.

* * * * *

Rory pulled into the nearly deserted convenience store parking lot and killed the engine. She sat still for a moment, then turned to Tristan and spoke, "Get what you want. I'll meet you back here in ten minutes." She stared at him for an extra moment, then nodded decisively and got out, without allowing him the chance to reply.

Tristan got out as well, but before going into the store he pulled off his Chilton blazer, untucked the tails of his shirt, unbuttoned the cuffs, and rolled up his shirtsleeves. He took his tie off and tossed it along with his blazer into the back seat. He was now as comfortable as he could get while still in uniform. Then he followed the path Rory had taken. He grabbed himself a bag of licorice and then went to the back to fill up a Slurpee cup. 

He glanced up as the bells above the door jangled, signaling that Rory had finished and left. Tristan began to move a little faster. Rory was acting strangely, and for all he knew, could be plotting to leave him behind. 

He paid for his purchases, thanked the cashier and left.

Rory, it seemed, had resisted the urge to flee and was leaning against the car, her own Slurpee (two sizes larger than his own, he noted amusedly) in hand, white plastic bag of junk food beside her on the hood. She glanced up when he approached, eyes cautious.

He stood in front of her, knowing she had something to say. He wasn't wrong. "I think," she began slowly, "since we do have to spend the next few hours together, we should agree to be civil."

"Civil," he repeated dubiously.

"Yes. A temporary cease-fire."

"Really," he stated, rather than asked. This was a shocking new development.

"Well, we have done it before."

He nodded. "Okay."

"'Okay?'" she repeated skeptically, "That's it?"

"Were you expecting an argument?"

"Well yeah."

Tristan resisted the urge to remind her that most of their present enmity was on her part, that it was almost always she who started their fights, though usually not purposefully. That might change her mind about the truce. "Well," he said simply, "I'm not going to." He gestured to her bag of candy. "Ready to go?"

She nodded mutely and he walked past her to get into the car. "Tristan," she said.

He turned and stared down at her. "Yes, Rory?" 

She looked at him, her forehead crinkled, as if she were concentrating intensely. Her expression was one of mystification as she studied him, almost as if she had forgotten what he looked like. He bore her scrutiny silently, patiently, forcing himself to stamp down the tiny flutter of hope his brain was fighting to let loose. He hated the maybes. Maybe she'll forgive me, maybe we can be friends again, maybe...

Rory shook her head abruptly, "Nothing," she said. "Just… nothing," she repeated and turned to walk over to her side of the car. Before getting in, she shrugged out of her own blazer and put it in the backseat next to her backpack, fully aware of him watching her. Tristan resisted trying to goad her into telling him what she was thinking, what she was feeling. But he knew that would have been a mistake. Rory was stubborn and needed time to figure things out for herself. 

He just hoped it wouldn't take her too long.

****

August - Before Junior Year

"Why are we doing this again?" Lorelai asked her daughter as they exited Stars Hollow, their jeep crammed to capacity with suitcases and pillows and a rather large cooler. From the amount of luggage they had, you wouldn't be able to tell that they were only going to be gone for the weekend.

"Because Grandma had invited us to come and you accepted. This is the last weekend they'll be there so that's why we're going," Rory recited automatically for what had to have been the 30th time since they had woken up.

"Right. You should really just duct tape my mouth shut. I should not be allowed to speak. It always seems to end badly."

"You'd rip duct tape off of your mouth in 30 seconds. The only time you're ever quiet is when you're asleep, and even then you snore."

"I do not!"

"Do too."

"I am far to dainty and ladylike to snore," Lorelai retorted.

Rory rolled her eyes. "Right. It was so dainty the way you shoved half a jelly donut in your mouth this morning. And it was very ladylike of you to get the jelly smeared all over your shirt so we had to go home for you to change."

"Well, fine. But I don't snore."

"Whatever. You're as delicate as a princess is. The one with the pea."

"Damn skippy," Lorelai replied than returned to her original thought. "Right, so, I hate Martha's Vineyard."

"As I am well aware."

"I mean, rich people in Hartford are bad enough. But there? So much worse."

"Really."

"Oh yeah, you can't swing a cat without hitting one."

Rory winced. "Poor kitty."

"Yeah, I've always wondered where that expression came from. Why would anyone swing a cat around? And furthermore, I think a cat would swing pretty far, so a cat, assuming your holding on to its tail, could give you a good three or four foot diameter, so it's not like people have to be packed that tightly to get hit. I mean, why not swing a gerbil?"

"This conversation is quickly taking a turn into grossness."

"Right. Sorry. Anyway, rich people. All over the place, at least around where we'll be. And it's all rich old people, too. No one under the age of 35 at all."

"So we won't be finding my new daddy?"

"Nope. Maybe we'll hit Denny's on the way home."

"These rich old people, will we scandalize them with our newfangled music and our shocking clothes?" Rory asked sarcastically.

"Of course. They'll chase us down the streets, canes in the air."

"Good times," Rory said, as she leaned forward to switch CDs.

"Oooh!" Lorelai squealed. "I love this song, A terrible thought has moved into my mind…."

"Mom? Must you sing?"

"Aw, come on. You know you want to."

Rory rolled her eyes, but she joined in, "I must take proper measures to evict it…"

****

April - Senior Year

"So, who goes first?" 

Rory whipped her head in Tristan's direction. She had almost forgotten he was there and let her hand fall from the ignition. "First? For what?"

"Who gets control of the music first?"

"Hmm. I vote for me."

Tristan rolled his eyes. "Of course you do. But I vote for me, and here we have a tie."

"However will we break it?"

"The Democratic way, obviously."

"Which is?"

"Rock, paper, scissors."

"Fine." She held out her fist, Tristan did the same. She narrowed her eyes at him menacingly, and he smirked back. "Rock, paper, scissors." Rory had chosen paper. Tristan, scissors. 

"Scissors cut paper. I win."

"Two out of three?"

"Nope."

"Come on!" She pouted.

"It's your own fault. You're the one who told me your strategy."

May - Junior Year

"Can't we rent a movie that's actually good?" Tristan asked after Rory presented him with her movie choice.

Rory glanced down at the case she held. "It's Lake Placid. It has infinite mocking potential."

"Yes, I know. But you see, if we rented a good movie, we could actually watch it and enjoy it. No mocking."

Rory wrinkled her nose. "Your logic is strange and wrong."

Tristan sighed, knowing he would not win in an argument. "Fine. We'll go rock, paper, scissors. If you win, we watch Lake Placid. Again." 

"And if you win?"

"I pick the movie."

"Do I get to veto?"

"No."

"You drive a hard bargain, Mr. DuGrey."

"We DuGrey's are known for our business sense."

"Fine. Rock, paper, scissors." Tristan had gone with good old rock. Rory had picked paper. "Paper covers rock. Alligators it is."

After checking out the movie and stocking up on snacks, Rory and Tristan began the walk back to Rory's house. "I can't believe you beat me," he said petulantly.

Rory rolled her eyes. "You're such a bad loser."

"I am not."

"Are too. Besides, I have a foolproof rock, paper, scissors winning strategy."

"Really? What is it?"

"I'm obviously not going to tell you. You'll use the power for evil."

Tristan glared at her. "I'm holding the candy. I can make it disappear."

"You wouldn't dare!" Rory said lunging for the bag.

Tristan dodged her easily. "Yeah I would. I know people." He swung the bag carelessly back and forth.

"All right, I guess I have no choice. For the good of the gummi bears. It's simple really. See, people are predictable."

"Hey!"

Rory ignored him and continued, "They always pick rock, so I always start out with paper. It almost always works."

"That's not a strategy."

"It worked on you didn't it?"

"Shut up."

Rory hid her smile so not to further damage his ego, and they continued walking. 

****

April - Senior Year

"You and your stupid memory. You're like an elephant. I'm going to start calling you Dumbo, or Babar, or…" Rory trailed off, struggling to think of another famous elephant. "Dumbo's mother," she finished lamely.

"Oh the humanity," Tristan deadpanned as he rifled through the discs he kept in the center console.

He held one up for her approval, "Nickelback."

"Veto! Veto!"

"What? Why?"

"I don't have to justify my veto."

"Yes you do."

Rory was about to argue, but in light of their recent peace treaty, she complied. "Because if I have to here 'How You Remind Me' or 'Too Bad' again, I'm going to go on a homicidal rampage. And since you're the only person in killing range..."

"Noted. What about The White Stripes?"

"Acceptable."

"Good," he said and put the disc in.

--- Dead leaves and the dirty ground when you know you're not around / Shiny pops and soda pops when I hear your lips make a sound ---

****

August - Before Junior Year

Lorelai got out of the Jeep slowly and stretched. "I think we need a bigger car," she commented.

Rory glanced at the piles of stuff they had brought. "I think we need to learn how to pack lightly. She glanced up at the house. It was large, vaguely colonial and expensive looking, but not ostensibly so. It was very much what she had expected; her grandparents were nothing, if not set in their ways. 

And speaking of grandparents, there was Emily hurrying out of the house towards them. Rory's eyes widened slightly as she drew closer. Her grandmother was wearing shorts. Granted, she was also wearing pearls but for Emily Gilmore, it was probably about as casual as one could get and still be proper. A man of approximately forty years followed her. "Rory, dear, it's good to see you. You look wonderful." Emily turned to greet her daughter and her voice became more subdued. "Hello, Lorelai. We were expecting you a little earlier."

Rory smiled at her mother, silently asking her to be nice, and with an effort, Lorelai managed to force herself to apologize, "Sorry, Mom. Traffic, you know."

Emily opened her mouth to respond but Rory interrupted her, "The house is beautiful, Grandma."

Emily beamed. "Why thank you, Rory. It's different from our usual place, but we've come to like it." She took Rory's arm and prepared to lead her into the house, but then remembering the man beside her, addressed Lorelai, "This is Martin, he'll show you your rooms and bring in your bags." She turned her attention back to Rory. "This house was built in 1902, by a family…" 

"Don't worry about me," Lorelai called from behind them. "I'll just hang out with Jeeves, here.

Emily interrupted her architectural monologue long enough to call back at her daughter, "Martin, Lorelai. His name is Martin."

Rory glanced back at her mother, making a helpless gesture. Lorelai made an exaggerated throat slitting and gestured for her not to worry, so Rory gave Emily her full attention. "…around all summer. I'm sure you'll like him," she was saying. 

Rory had not caught the name of the "him" in question, so she assumed her grandmother was referring to one of her friends, so she nodded politely, and Emily continued chatting, moving onto talk of the party preparations.

But you know what they say about people who assume things.

****

April - Senior Year

"Your time is up," Rory said, ejecting The White Stripes.

Tristan glanced at his watch. "Technically, I still had 23 seconds, but I'm willing to let that go."

"Way to take the high road. Could you grab my bag from the backseat, please?"

Tristan nodded, shifted over in his seat, and stretched to reach her bag in the back. His arm brushed hers, and Rory shifted away from him. Unfortunately, there was a door in the way. She glanced down, her eyes drawn to the thin, lightly-tanned strip of his stomach revealed where his shirt had ridden up as he reached over. She quickly glanced away and tightened grip on the steering wheel, swallowing hard. Rory willed her thoughts to behave themselves; she only had a little highway dementia. Tristan was not attractive, Tristan was not attractive…

He pulled her backpack from the backseat and glanced over at her, oblivious to the thoughts in her head. "Do I have permission to look inside?" he joked, probably remembering the never-look-inside-a-woman's-bag-unless-given-explicit-permission rule. 

"Front pocket," she said abruptly. 

He looked at her quizzically, and then writing of her demeanor as another of her frequent mood swings, opened up her bag. "What do you want to listen to?"

"Um… Luscious Jackson." He rifled through the jewel cases silently. "What, no comments?" she asked suspiciously.

"Nope," he answered simply.

"I'm probably pushing my luck here, but why is that?"

"You have an overabundance of chick rock in here. It's the lesser of the evils."

"Works for me," Rory replied as he found the correct case, slipped the CD in and pushed play.

--- If you need me to be sweet / Than I can't give you what you need --- 

****

August - Before Junior Year

Rory slipped through the patio doors of the house, book in one hand, sunblock in the other, and a towel draped over one shoulder. It was just after nine AM, and Emily had left fifteen minutes earlier to have brunch with the society ladies. She had wanted Rory to join them, but Rory had managed to decline gracefully. Richard had taken the opportunity provided by his wife's absence to slip into the study and conduct some business, something that was verboten this weekend. Lorelai was still asleep, having indulged in quite a few margaritas the previous night. Margaritas, it seemed, dulled the torment of Hell. Hell in this case being a small cocktail party with a few of the elder Gilmores' friends. 

Rory walked a little ways away from the house, chose a spot, and spread her towel out. Five minutes later, she was stretched out on her stomach, protected from UV rays, and immersed in Jude the Obscure.

She remained that way for the next half an hour, oblivious to her surroundings. It was only then that she gradually became aware of a pair of Nike sandal-encased feet standing just in front of her. She glanced up quickly, but just as quickly squeezed her eyes shut as the sun shone into them painfully. Trying again, this time with her hand shielding her face, she was met with the sight of the bane of her existence. It was none other than Tristan DuGrey. "Great," she groaned.

He smirked down at her. "Fancy meeting you here, Mary."

She pushed herself into a sitting position so she wasn't looking up at quite so severe an angle and snapped her book shut. "You know, if you're going to ruin someone's life, you should at least know her name."

He sat down beside her. "I know your name."

"Well, then use it. I didn't say you could sit, either."

"I didn't ask."

With a disgusted sigh, Rory began to get to her feet, but Tristan reached out quickly and grabbed her hand, holding her in place. "Wait," he paused and added, "Rory. Please."

Somewhat mollified by the word "please" and her own name, Rory sat back down. She stared at the waves and kept her voice polite, though not overly warm. "So what brings you here?"

"Same thing as you." He pointed down the beach. "My grandparents have a house there.

"So you came up for the weekend?"

"No. I've been here all summer."

Rory was a little shocked. "What will your minions do without your guidance over the summer?"

"My 'minions?'"

"Seemed appropriate."

"I guess it is. But I don't really know or care. I've been coming here every summer since I was nine or ten."

"And my mom said only old people come here."

"She's right, pretty much. Most people our age would do anything to get out of coming down with their families. You're one of the few people I've seen who doesn't qualify for a senior citizen's discount."

"Then why do you come?" Rory questioned

"I like my grandparents," he said simply.

Rory, unsure of an appropriate response, didn't reply. Silence reigned. It was Tristan who broke it, saying tentatively, "About that last day of school…"

"Do we have to talk about that?" Rory asked flatly.

Tristan ran his hand through his hair uncomfortably. "Well, I just want to apologize." He laughed humorlessly. "Seems like I do that a lot with you, huh?" Rory said nothing, uncertain as to where he was going. "Anyway," he continued, "I am sorry. I shouldn't have told Louise and Madeline and Paris we were going to the concert, and I shouldn't have tried to force you to go with me. I was being stupid."

"I hope you don't expect me to disagree with you," Rory told him.

"No. It's just… well, you're odd."

"Tell me that a few more times, and I might start to take it the wrong way." 

"Don't. You know what I mean. You're not like most girls at Chilton. You don't care about money or any of the status bullshit they spend half their time worrying about. You're smart and damn cool," Tristan finished quickly.

"Um. Thanks," Rory stammered, obviously baffled.

"You're welcome. Anyway," Tristan sifted sand through his fingers and continued to studiously avoid her eyes, "What I'm trying to say, very, very inarticulately, is that you once offered me friendship. I'd like to try that again but with no ulterior motives and no hidden agendas this time."

Rory thought about his words; he seemed genuine, more so than she had ever seen him before. She didn't speak for a long time, and Tristan began to rise. "If you don't want to, or you need some time to think…"

Rory smiled ruefully and tugged on his hand. He fell back onto the sand, rather ungracefully. "Patience is a virtue, Tristan."

"So my grandma tells me."

"I don't need time. If you're serious, I think I can find it in my heart to forgive you and start again."

"Really?" he asked. She nodded. "You really are freakishly nice," at her glare, he spoke again. "Well, I am serious. I'll do everything in my power to make things right with Paris."

"I accept your apology, and don't worry about Paris. I can handle her."

Tristan smiled, momentarily relieved. His smile dimmed however, and he spoke again. "I am sorry for being an ass but if I'm being honest, I can't promise it won't happen again. It's kind of a character flaw."

"So I've noticed," Rory teased. "And I'm willing to be lenient, as long as you promise to be genuinely contrite after any slip-ups."

"Promise."

"Good." Rory held out her hand and he shook it. "I officially pronounce you my friend."

"Does that mean you don't hate me anymore?" he asked lightly.

"You heard that?" At his nod, she frowned slightly. "Tristan, I've never hated you. I've been frustrated, annoyed, and pissed off at you, yes, but never hated you. I'd had a horrible few hours, and I snapped."

"Okay." Tristan glanced down at his watch. "I have to go. My grandfather and I are going golfing."

Rory smiled. "You? Golfing? I didn't figure you were the type."

"What's wrong with golfing?"

"Nothing. I have a hat you'd look fabulous in."

Puzzled, Tristan rose. "So I'll see you at your grandparents' party tonight?"

"Sure."

Tristan got up and with a wave, walked down the beach to his grandparents' house. Rory sat on the beach, staring after him, their conversation re-playing in her head. 

"Rory!" 

Rory turned to see her mother waving at her from the patio. She got up, gathered her things and ran up to the house. "Morning."

"Who was that guy?" Lorelai asked.

Rory smiled and considered the question. "Just a friend from Chilton," she answered, smiling.

****

April - Senior Year

"Queens of the Stone Age?"

"Wow. A band I actually approve of! I must say, Tristan, I'm impressed."

"Well, I'm impressive."

"Or so you keep telling me."

"I'm not a liar."

"Ha!" Rory smiled, almost affectionately, and turned her attention to the road as she navigated a lane change.

--- We got some rules to follow / That and this / These and those / No one knows ---

Tristan observed Rory discreetly. It was amazing to him how easily they had tossed off their hostility. If he didn't know any better he'd think they had traveled through a time warp and made their way back to last year. He thought about commenting on the change but thought better of it. Rory looked relaxed, happy even. He had almost forgotten what she looked like that way. Rather than dwelling on it, he decided to just enjoy it while he could. "I didn't think you'd be into this band," he told her.

"Lane's rubbed off on me, I guess. She has this thing with Dave Grohl. How long do you think it will take us to get to Hartford?"

"Forty-five minutes, I think."

****

August - Before Junior Year

Lorelai walked out onto the patio, towards the railing where her daughter and Tristan were sitting. "Forty-five minutes since this god-awful party has begun, and I have had three not so subtle inquiries about Christopher. How do these people even remember these things?"

Rory patted her mother's head affectionately. "Sorry, Mom. Want some of my drink?"

Lorelai took her daughter's glass. "What is it?"

"Coke."

"With rum?"

"Yes, Mother, Grandma was more than happy to supply me with rum. She said a drunken granddaughter was just the thing this party needed."

"Doesn't hurt to ask." Lorelai sighed and handed back the glass. "No thank you then." She turned her attention towards Tristan, who had not spoken. "Hi. I'm Lorelai Gilmore, mother of Rory, and disgrace of the Gilmore clan."

Tristan smiled and relaxed marginally. "Nice to meet you. I'm Tristan DuGrey."

"So I've been told. What…"

"Lorelai!"

"Curses! They've spotted me," Lorelai muttered dramatically. 

"Lorelai!" Emily called. "The Blake family is here. They can't wait to see you. Don't be rude."

"Help me." Lorelai pouted. 

"Ask them about their grandson," Tristan advised her.

"Why?"

"Just do it, trust me."

"Lorelai!"

"Coming!" she called and with one last "pity me" look, she went back inside.

Rory turned to Tristan. "Why did you tell her to do that?"

"I'll let your mother fill you in later. Suffice it to say, big scandal and unhappy parents. They'll leave her alone as soon as she mentions him."

"Well that's rather devious."

"Well, I try. So, tell me about your summer. Did you enjoy being free of Chilton?"

"I wasn't exactly free of it. I took some summer classes."

"Why in the world would you want to do that?"

"I'm tragically nerdy," Rory deadpanned. "And let's see, I built a house with Habitat for Humanity, but that's about everything of note. Mostly, I've been hanging out with my mom and Lane and Dean."

Tristan bit his tongue at the mention of Dean's name and willed himself not to say anything.

Rory, for her part, realized her mistake and braced herself for his comments. When they didn't come, she was shocked. And a little impressed. Maybe he was being truthful when he promised to make an effort.

Tristan cleared his throat and tried to think of a better topic. What would Rory Gilmore enjoy talking about that was in no way awkward or uncomfortable? "So, what were you reading this morning?"

Rory stood up straighter, glad for a neutral, enjoyable topic. "Jude the Obscure. I think I liked Tess of the D'urbervilles, better.

"No way! Jude the Obscure is by far the better Hardy novel."

"You've read the both?"

"Even jaded rich boys learn how to read in kindergarten, Rory."

"I know that." She paused. "I just figured you'd forgotten, what with your busy schedule of tormenting new girls..."

****

April - Senior Year

"Do you have the paper with the directions on it?" Rory asked Tristan as they entered Boston city limits.

"Yeah, hold on a second." He opened the glove department in front of him, and papers and pens and everything else he had crammed in there in the last few months spilled out. "Or maybe more than a second," he amended as he began to sort through the mess. He muttered to himself as he sorted the junk into piles on his dashboard, "Ketchup package, homework, homework, pen, receipt, picture..." He trailed off as he stared at the Polaroid. 

Rory noticed his silence and looked over, asking, "What's the matter? Who's in the picture?"

Tristan shook himself out of his frozen state, fervently wishing he had cleaned out his car. "It's nothing."

"Let me see." She reached over and snatched it from his hand, bringing it over so she could see. When she got a good look, she wished she hadn't. It was a picture of Tristan and her, both covered in tinsel and holding cookies, smiling at the camera. Her mother's scrawl across the bottom read, "Rory and Tristan, Christmas Eve, 2002." The photo fluttered from Rory's hand, onto the floor.

Rory bit her lip, willing herself not to cry. Tristan was silent, struggling with similar emotions. The tension in the car rose to an all-time high, previous banter forgotten.

Christmas Eve. The last night before their relationship was smashed to pieces.


	5. Pre Fight Warm Up

Disclaimer, rating and information about spoilers can be found in the first chapter.

****

Notes: And here we have part 5. Sorry for the delay. I was busy graduating from high school. 

****

Part Five: Pre Fight Warm Up

December – Senior Year

Tristan stood at the top of the staircase that led down to the foyer. He scanned the area below and was pleased to see that not a servant was in sight. The coast was clear. 

So Tristan did what any nearly eighteen-year-old did when he had the run of a mansion. He tossed his bag down to the bottom, seated himself on the railing and slid down as fast as he could. He landed on the floor and allowed himself a gleeful smile. A smile that was quickly wiped away by the sound of a throat clearing behind him. He turned, mildly chagrined to see Charles, the Dugrey family butler, smiling at him in an indulgent fashion.

"I'd give it an 8.5, sir. The dismount was a little shaky," Charles said, fixing Tristan with a mockingly stern look.

Tristan relaxed, glad that it was Charles. He had been with the family even longer than Tristan himself had, so the rule about not looking foolish in front of the servants was waived. In Tristan's opinion at least. His father, he was sure, would disagree. "Good morning, Charles. How are you?" 

A slightly raised eyebrow was Charles only reaction to his young charge's uncharacteristic cheerfulness. "Very well, Master Tristan. And yourself?"

"Excellent."

"Good. Rosa has sent me to ask you what you would like for dinner tonight."

"Nothing."

"Nothing?" Charles's second eyebrow shot up to join the first near his hairline. Like most of his age and gender Tristan was rarely not hungry. "Are you ill? Should I call for a doctor?"

Tristan rolled his eyes. "I'm fine. Perfectly healthy. I just won't be eating dinner here tonight. Or the next two nights."

"Oh. Why not?"

"I've been invited to spend Christmas with a friend."

"But your parents…"

"With all due respect Charles, my parents can go to hell."

"Master Tristan…" Charles began sharply, but Tristan held up a hand.

"I'm sorry. I know. They're good people, blah, blah, blah, care for me in their own way, etc., etc., have my best interests at heart and all that. I've heard it all before. Could we possibly skip the lecture?" Tristan forged ahead without giving Charles an opening to reply, "Anyway, since I won't be around messing up the place and requiring meals, everyone can have the next few days off. And we won't tell my parents so everyone will have a nice little paid vacation."

"Oh we couldn't possibly."

"You can, and you will," Tristan fixed Charles with his own pointed look, and continued, "I know everyone likes to spend time with their families. And I know a certain someone, i.e. you, who will be pleased to be able to spend some time with a certain head maid of the family across the street."

Charles withered cheeks took on a decidedly pink hue. "Well… I will tell the rest of the staff. You are uncommonly generous today."

"Well, I suppose even I have the capacity to think of others occasionally. You probably shouldn't expect this to be a regular thing though."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

"Very well," Charles turned to leave, presumably to tell the staff the good news but he pivoted at the last second, with a look in his eye that could only be described as mischievous, "and Tristan?"

"Yes?"

"Wish the Miss Gilmore's a Merry Christmas for me, won't you?"

"How did you…" Tristan began, but Charles was already gone.

****

April – Senior Year

"The directions?" Rory's voice sounded strange in the confines of the vehicle. Harsh, flat, strangled. How could she have forgotten? They weren't friends, not anymore. Her knuckles were clenched painfully around the steering wheel and glaringly white. Her spine was ramrod straight, as though perfect posture could banish the less than pleasant feelings she was currently experiencing.

"Right," Tristan forced his gaze away from her, and reached back into the glove compartment. He fished out the slip of paper he was seeking and cursed it a thousand flaming deaths at the hands of a bic lighter. Just when things were going so well. "Here," he handed it to her and their fingers brushed. 

Rory yanked her hand away. She glanced at the paper and squinted. "I can't read Charleston's handwriting," she said tightly.

Tristan leaned over and gently extracted the paper from her fingers, careful to avoid any skin to skin contact. He brought the crudely drawn map to his face and squinted at it "Keep going. We need to turn off at exit ramp six." 

The next few minutes were spent in near silence broken only by the occasional direction from Tristan. Both stared straight ahead, afraid of what would happen should their eyes happen to meet. They crowded as close to their respective doors as humanely possible even more afraid of what would happen should they touch, even accidentally. Finally, they pulled into the parking lot of the building indicated on Charleston's scribbled map.

"Rory…" Tristan began, the silence finally becoming too much for him. 

Tristan detested silence. Having grown up in a house the size of a small castle, rarely seeing his own parents, raised by servants (polite, but never warm) he had good reason to. 

At the moment he felt like he was choking on the silence and the only way he could breathe was if Rory would talk to him. Yell at him. Anything.

But for Rory silence the silence was a comfort and she wanted it to remain, blanketing them, protecting her. Her home, small and cozy, was always noisy. She had talking to her lawn gnomes, loud, flamboyant Miss Patty with her men and her past, Morey and his piano at all hours of the night, Taylor and his booming bravado and his latest cause…

So she liked silence because it was rare and special. She liked to escape into other worlds in her books, in her dreams. And if Tristan started talking she knew, with an absolute painful certainty that things would get a little too real for her. So she needed to stop him. In a few minutes she would have to go into a room filled with people. Rich, influential, important people. She couldn't cry. She had to maintain the silence.

"Tristan, not now. Don't you think, over the course of the last few months, that we've said everything there is to say?" Not giving him a chance to reply she got out of the car and walked as fast as she could towards the entrance.

****

December – Senior Year

Tristan stood on the Gilmore's porch, finger over the doorbell (he had been told, repeatedly, to feel free to just walk in, but had yet to be able to bring himself to do it. It just seemed unthinkable to him after years and years of having to be formally announced by a butler/maid/other servant type person at every house he visited,) feeling very, very nervous.

He lowered his hand, running it through his hair. The question then became why, exactly, was he nervous. He'd lost track of the number of times he'd been to the Gilmore house. While at first he'd been uncomfortable there, unused to the clutter, the informality and the general unpretentiousness of it. But gradually, through continued exposure, he'd grown used to it, grown to love it more than his own home.

He wasn't nervous about meeting the other residents of Stars Hollow either. Since his first visit to the town nearly a year and a half ago he'd met pretty much each and every person in the tiny town. He'd been subject to much gossip and many intrusive conversations at first (Miss Patty had fondled his ass, Luke had grilled him about his "intentions," Taylor, distrustful of the fact that he was from Hartford had lectured him on what was and was not acceptable in 'his' town, Lane had ascertained that he was not and never had been a fan of Limp Bizkit, and so on and so forth) until he was generally accepted as an honorary member of their weird little town.

It couldn't be that it was a holiday either. He'd been to town celebrations before (more than a dozen, actually, as Stars Hollow partied, quite literally, at the drop of a hat). They seemed to approach each and every one with an equal fervor whether the holiday was major (Halloween with a festival in the town square) or minor (the six-month anniversary of the traffic light with another festival in town square).

"Were you planning on going in?"

Tristan turned quickly, his shoes slipping a little on the iced over porch sending him stumbling into the railing.

Jess Mariano smirked, pleased to see the preppie pretty boy looking flustered, "Graceful, DuGrey. Did they teach you that at your country club charm school?"

"Skulking around like a malefactor as usual, Mariano?" 

Jess and Tristan had one of those weird indecipherable boy friendships based more on grudging respect for each other's intelligence and a liking for the same brand of cigarettes than any common interest. Upon their first introduction Jess had written Tristan off as a brainless himbo and Tristan thought Jess to be nothing more than a James Dean wannabe. Eventually, as each came to understand the permenance of the other in Rory Gilmore's life, an acceptance was borne. They were hardly blood brothers but they didn't (except for that one time, which was never spoken of) try to cause one another bodily harm, either.

Jess rolled his eyes, "At least skulking requires standing upright, a skill you have yet to master, by the looks of things."  


Tristan mirrored Jess' eye roll, "Is it my fault that this town prohibits the use of salt and sand for traction?"

"No, we have to blame Taylor for that. Apparently having people fall down is preferable to the ruining of the postcard worthy picture of Stars Hollow in the winter."

"Someone should sue," Tristan stated.

"Does this mean all your manly posturing is over?" a new voice asked, "'cause as interesting as this all is I'm cold. Blue lips are so 1993." Tristan turned, this time managing not to slip, and saw Lorelai standing in the doorway. She smiled at him, "Merry Christmas, Tristan."

"Thank you. Merry Christmas to you too."

"Come on inside. You too Jess, since I'm guessing you're here for some reason or another. I'll get you some egg nog. It's not spiked, yet. Rory hid my hooch. Speaking of the little Puritan, she should be back in a few minutes. She just ran to Doose's." Lorelai walked into the house and both Tristan and Jess followed, "Well, she said she was going to Doose's but what could she possibly need on Christmas Eve? I'm guessing she's off to wherever my present is hidden, and can you believe she hid it at some other house? My own daughter doesn't trust me. Just because of that time last year and the year before… I'm not a child. I have some willpower…

****

April – Senior Year

"I think I've settled on Yale, actually."

The afternoon tea was not going well. An hour ago Rory had walked into the building and immediately found a bathroom. She had splashed her face with cold water, changed into a simple, knee length black dress and blue cardigan and attempted to force herself to calm down. 

She took deep breaths (in through the nose, out through the mouth) like she had seen on that afternoon Yoga show she and her mother had watched that one time they hadn't been able to locate the remote control. And as she had always suspected Yoga was useless. She had just ended up making herself dizzy. 

She tried to call her mom but, since luck was laughing in her face today, Lorelai was in a meeting with some rich oil baron's widow who wanted to hold a wedding at the Independence Inn and could thus not be disturbed. She couldn't call Lane, because she was at school and Rory highly doubted she would be able to convince the school administrators to call her out of class for Rory Gilmore's emotional breakdown. Likewise with Paris. She even, very briefly considered calling Emily. But, much as she loved her grandmother, Emily had been a little upset after Rory and Tristan (the handsome DuGrey boy, the sort of boy you should be seen with Rory) had their falling out, even more so after Rory refused to explain it's cause. Rory was on her own. And she couldn't even get any coffee.

She had exited the bathroom, helped herself to a cucumber sandwich and pasted what she hoped was the smile of a happy seventeen year old with a social conscious on her face. Rory had then faced the members of the hospital's board and others who had shown up and answered all their questions (Yale. Chilton's a wonderful school, very challenging. They're my grandparents. Yes, they are wonderful, aren't they? Journalism, hopefully.). Luckily most of the people in the room were either too self-absorbed to notice or too polite to comment on her distraction.

Every once in awhile she would catch a glimpse of Tristan across the room. If he was feeling at all discombobulated by the car ride here, specifically the latter, more grueling part he didn't show it. He looked relaxed and effortlessly charmed anyone who approached him. But then, that was Tristan. That was just one of the many things that she hated about him.

It was sad, really. When you couldn't even lie to yourself convincingly.


	6. Ladies and Gentlemen, To Your Corners

Disclaimer, rating and information about spoilers can be found in the first chapter.

**Part Six: Ladies and Gentlemen, To Your Corners**

**July – Before Senior Year**

"Rory!  I've been looking for you."

Rory turned at the sound of his voice, her movements less than polished.  "Tristan!  I was just thinking about you."  She leaned closer to the girl she was chatting with.  "That's my friend Tristan.  He's really pretty, isn't he?"

The girl, who turned out to be Stephanie Stouffer, recent Chilton grad and old family friend, smirked gleefully.  "Very pretty," she agreed solemnly, "he's a peach."

Something was definitely off here, Tristan decided.  Both girls were looking a bit flushed, despite the air-conditioner induced coolness of the room.  Rory took a sip from the red plastic cup in her hand and something clicked.  He snatched the cup from her hand and took a sip.  

"Hey!" Rory protested and made a grab for the cup.  Her hand closed around the air a good five inches from Tristan's face.  

Tristan grimaced as he tasted the vodka the fruity contents of the cup had been liberally mixed with.  "Who gave this to you?" he asked.

"Louise.  It's yummy.  Like candy."

Tristan scrubbed a hand across his face, "You're mother is going to kick my ass."

"Pshaw," Rory made a dismissive gesture and nearly knocked herself over.  Tristan's hand shot out and steadied her.  It was obviously not her first cup then.  "My mom wouldn't do that.  She respects the hotness of your ass."

Tristan choked a little.  Apparently on his own tongue.  _Definitely_ not her first cup.  "I think we need to go now."

"No we don't.  I'm having fun.  Making new friends.  Steph has a horse.  And it's alive!  Isn't that neato?"

"Oh dear god," Tristan grasped Rory's hand and began to lead her away.  She stumbled, so he wrapped an arm around her waist and half-walked, half carried her out of the house.  The world had gone topsy turvy.  Rory Gilmore was alarmingly drunk.  She had complimented his ass.  Her left hand was wandering very low on his hip.  Finally, they reached his car.  He maneuvered her into the passenger seat and leaned over her to secure her seatbelt.  Rory took the opportunity to lean into him, he felt her nose brush his neck, heard her inhale and then exhale.  The faint hum that followed made his hands shake.  Up was down and down was up.

As efficiently as possible Tristan made sure Rory was belted in, closed the door and made his was to the driver's seat.  He opened all the windows and kept his eyes on the road as he drove away.  

**April – Senior Year**

Rory glanced down at her watch.  Three minutes since the last time she had checked.  She was torn.  On the one hand she wished for the tedious conversations to be over.  On the other she dreaded getting back into the car with Tristan.  

On the other side of the room Tristan was in much the same position as Rory.  However practice allowed him not to look it.  He answered questions about school, his parents, and his future with ease, outwardly relaxed and carefree.  On the inside he was anything but relaxed.  He found himself mentally cursing himself.  It had been after all, his manipulation that put him in this situation.  Had he not made up that story, which at the time had seemed to be a minuscule, inconsequential white lie, about Charleston insisting on a carpool, they would not be in this situation.  The picture would have remained buried in his glove compartment.  He really hated it when things were his fault.

**December – Senior Year**

Tristan crept out onto the porch and flopped down beside Rory.  She was wrapped up in a blanket on the porch swing, one leg tucked under her, one dangling and pushing off the porch at infrequent intervals.  "What's the procedure for Boxing Day around here?"

"Eating and resting."

"Good.  I don't think I could handle another day of this."

"Please.  Tristan DuGrey?  Chilton party boy?  Worn out by some innocent small town festivities?"

"Yep."

"Your reputation will suffer should anyone find out."

"It would.  But no one will believe you."

"True."  

They lapsed into silence, each content to watch the snowfall.

"Did you enjoy yourself?"

"More than I have at any other Christmas," Tristan said truthfully.

"Really?  I know it's not what you're used to.  There was no ball or Beluga caviar or champagne or a thirty foot Christmas tree covered in diamonds…"

"I'm not the Sultan of Brunei, you know.  That stuff doesn't really matter."

"The Sultan of Brunei probably wouldn't be celebrating a Christian holiday," Rory pointed out sensibly.

"You know what I mean."

"Yeah.  I wish you had gone all anti material hippie boy on me sooner though.  Would have saved me the present related stress."

"I wouldn't go that far.  One becomes accustomed to certain things."

"Like a $500 monthly hair care budget," Rory teased.

"I do not spend that much," Tristan retorted defensively.

"I bet you get your highlights done at the most expensive salon in Hartford."

"Hey!  My highlights are perfectly natural."

"Sure they are.  About as natural as Joan Rivers face is."

"They are!" Tristan paused, and seemed to consider something, "This could quite possibly be the most ridiculous conversation we've ever had, you know."

"It's certainly up there."

"If you're done mocking me, could I do what I came out here to do?"

"That depends on what you came out here to do."

"Give you your Christmas present."

"You did that this morning," Rory protested, and he had.  To Rory and Lorelai he had given _The Monkees: The Complete Series_ on DVD.  Which Lorelai had declared the best present ever, bar none.

"Well, I'm giving you another one."

"But I only got you one."

"That's not the point.  'Tis better to give than to receive,' remember?  Plus, your mom got me a present too."

"That doesn't count."

"Oh hell yes it does.  I've always wanted pink fuzzy dice hanging from my rearview mirror."

"I always knew you harbored pimp fantasies."

"It's the cane.  Functional, yet fashionable."

"Sometimes you worry me."

Tristan sighed, getting exasperated with their verbal battle.  He fished an envelope out of his coat pocket and passed it to her, "It's not wrapped, sorry.  It was a last minute stroke of genius."

"Now I'm frightened."

"Will you just open the envelope?"

"Tsk, tsk.  Patience," despite her teasing admonition Rory tore open the envelope. And inside were two PJ Harvey tickets.  Rory stared at them almost reverently.  Only once before had she held such a beautiful thing.  "Oh my god.  Oh my god!  How did you…? What…"

"Wow.  It I had known a couple of slips of paper were all it took to shut you up I would have obtained them a long time ago."

""Tristan!  You're ruining the moment."

"Right.  Sorry."

"I could kiss you."

"Where was that the first time I handed you PJ Harvey tickets?"

"What did I just say about ruining the moment?  That was back when you tried to force me to go with you against my will, remember?  Because that's the way to a girls heart," Rory finished sarcastically.

Tristan winced a little wishing he had kept his mouth shut.  Rory was still a bit bitter about that moment, nowhere near his finest.  It had taken her months to repair the damage he had caused with Paris and by extension Louise and Madeline.  "I'm sorry."

"I know.  I am too.  I shouldn't have brought that up.  It was unnecessary.  Anyway," Rory said brightly, trying to force away the little dark cloud that had formed, "I had no idea she was touring around here…"

"She's not."

"But…" Rory glanced down at the tickets in her hand for the first time seeing the words London printed there.  "London!" she screeched.

"Shhh.  It's 2 am.  People are trying to sleep."  

"But… London!  That's in England."

"Nothing gets past you, does it?  That's right, England.  Home of Prince William, Madonna and Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

"Technically, Hogwarts is in Scotland."

"Technically, I'm still a little weirded out by how attached you are to a children's book."

"It has subtext," Rory sniffed indignantly.

"Whatever you need to tell yourself."

"We're drifting here," as much as Rory loved arguing with Tristan, now was not the time.  "I'm still stuck on the England part."

"Why?"

"Because it's another continent.  Across a very large ocean.  You can't drive across the Atlantic."  Tristan opened his mouth but Rory cut him off, "And yes, I'm aware that I'm stating the blindingly obvious here."

"I wasn't sure."

"How are we supposed to get there?"

"Through the magic of commercial airlines."

"Do you have any idea how much that will cost?"

"Not really."

"Well, It's far more than I currently have in my piggy bank."

"Look, the concert is during spring break, see?  My dad always offers me a trip.  He doesn't want me hanging around the house all week.  I'll tell him I want to go to London this year."

"But what about…"

"He'll get me a first class ticket…"

"Naturally," Rory muttered.

"And we'll trade it in for two cheaper tickets."

"I… we… Tristan…" Rory opened and closed her mouth several times.  The boy was serious.  "No way."

Tristan blinked, taken aback.  He'd expected shock and surprise.  He hadn't expected total rejection.  "'No way?'  Are you kidding?  You're a huge fan.  You worship at the altar of the Harvey."

"It's too much.  Pink fuzzy dice do not equal a trip to Europe.  I can't just scam your dad like…" Rory trailed off, unwilling to finish the sentence.

"What, like I do?"  Funny how this was rapidly turning into the last time he'd bought her concert tickets.  Tristan stood up and walked away from her.

"No!"  Rory threw off her blanket and walked towards him.  "I didn't mean it like that."  She placed a hand on his arm gently.  

He laughed bitterly.  "Sure you did.  Just like you meant it before.  It's nice to know what you really think of me Rory.  After more than two years you still think I'm nothing but a conniving little snot, coasting by on Daddy's money."

She recoiled at his tone and avoided his eyes.  "That's not true."

"How can you be such a hypocrite?"

"Excuse me?"

"Oh please.  You can play the innocent all you like.  Pretend you know nothing about exploiting family money."

"I've never…"

"You had nothing to do with your grandparents until it was convenient for you.  Suddenly there's a tuition bill and your grandpa's golden girl.  And every time an envelope with a check stuffed inside comes your way you hardly refuse do you?"

Rory stiffened and glared at him.  When she spoke her voice was tight and her words clipped, "You know very well that's not what happened.  My mother and my grandparents had issues…"

"So?  They've been a bus ride away your entire life.  Hell, all you had to do was pick up the phone and they would have been overjoyed to send a car for you.  But no.  Rory can't do anything without her mommy holding her hand."  Tristan knew he'd gone to far even before Rory's hand connected with his cheek.

"Listen to me.  Do not take your problems out on me just because your mother would rather pop a valium and pay a nanny than have anything to do with you."

"Ooh.  Mary flipped the bitch switch."

"Only following your lead.  Grow up Tristan.  You may think your parents owe you something, but they don't.  Whatever your motive is, forget it."  

"Wait.  My 'motive?'  What the hell is that supposed mean?"

"It means that I'm your friend.  Period.  End of sentence.  It means that I'm never going to fall in love with you."

That hurt more than the slap had.  "Wow," Tristan drawled, "your conceit is astounding."

"As is yours.  Concert tickets won't, and never will, l get you into my pants."

The words hung in the air and Tristan visibly recoiled from her.  "I can not fucking believe that you just went there," he managed after a long moment.

"Okay Tristan.  Stand right there, look me in the eye, and tell me you don't want to be something more than my friend."  He remained silent.  "You can't."

"Oh, I could.  I could very easily lie to you but I won't.  No matter how little respect I have for you at this moment.  I can't believe you.  Have I, at any time in the last two years, ever crossed a boundary?"

"No," Rory admitted.

"No.  That's right, I didn't.  Even when I had the opportunity.  Even when you wanted me to."

**July – Before Senior Year**

Tristan drove to Stars Hollow only barley obeying the speed limits, and trying to avoid looking at Rory.  It wasn't until he was parked in front of her house that he let him look at her properly.  He probably shouldn't have.  Her eyes were closed and her lips parted in a dreamy smile.  The strap of her top had slipped down and his eyes were riveted to the smooth curve of her shoulder.  He swallowed and turned away for a moment.  But only for a moment as his eyes were irresistibly drawn back to the lightly freckled skin.  When he looked back at her face her eyes were open, and watching him.  "Hey," he said quietly, wincing when his voice cracked.

"Hi."

"Are you feeling okay?"

She rolled her head from side to side, "I feel wonderful.  I forget why I hate parties."

He chuckled, "Oh, you'll remember tomorrow."

Her hand pulled the strap of her top back up and Tristan's eyes followed the movement.  "Did you have fun?" she asked.

"I think so." 

"I'm glad."  Tristan was alarmed that Rory seemed to be leaning into him.

He flattened his back against the door, getting as much distance as his sporty little car would allow.  "We should get you into your house.  Do you have your keys?"

"Mom always leaves the door unlocked for me."

"Okay.  You stay there.  I'll help you out."  He hurried to her side of the car.  She swung her legs out and he grasped her hands, pulling her into a standing position.  All of a sudden she was standing much too close.  She had to tilt her head up to look at him.  It the dim light her seemed navy and bottomless.  "Can you walk?"

"Been a skill of mine for a good sixteen years now."  She made no move to demonstrate.  "Are you going to kiss me?"

He hadn't been expecting that.  "Do you want me to?" His voice was less than a whisper.

In response she stood on her tiptoes and brushed her lips against his.  Tristan willed himself not to respond.  He put a few inches between them and put a hand on her cheek forcing her to look at him.  "You're very drunk."

"Possibly."

"I can't kiss you when you're drunk."

"Are you sure?"

"Unfortunately."

"Okay then," Rory turned and made her way unsteadily to her front steps.  "Goodnight Tristan."

"Night."

The next time Rory saw Tristan he had asked her what she remembered about the party.  She had told him, that after her third cup of punch, everything was a blank.  It was a lie, and they had both known it.

**December – Senior Year**

"I was drunk," Rory sputtered, "I had no idea what I was doing."

"I don't believe you."

"I don't care what you believe!"  

"Fine."

"Fine!"  Rory whirled around and went into the house, letting the door slam behind her.  She flopped down on the couch and counted to ten.  Multiple times.  The conversation played over in her head, her words seemed harsher the longer she thought.  She told herself that he was going to come through that door any minute, that they'd apologize, eat some cookies and find some bad Christmas special to fall asleep to.  The sound of an engine roaring to life, and away from her house, proved her wrong.

That was bad.

* * * * *

_ "Hey.  It's Rory.  Again.  Tristan… Just pick up the phone.  Please?  We need to talk and your answering machine lacks your panache.  Tristan…" She sighed deeply.  "Just call me.  Soon.  Bye."_

It was the final message on the tape.  Five preceded it.  Three of those five were from Rory.  He played them all again.  

"Master Tristan… I know this may not be my place but I think it would be a good idea if you called Miss Gilmore back.  Things like this only get worse if left to fester."

Tristan did not acknowledge the butler for a minute.  When he spoke he was cold, "You're right Charles.  It is not your place to advise me on my relationship.  With Miss Gilmore or anyone else."

Charles sighed audibly, but retreated into the hallway.

**April – Senior Year**

And finally, things looked to be wrapping up.  The tea had been drunk, the mingling done, the speeches made.  They were in a lobby and an older gentleman was shaking her hand.  "Do have a safe trip home, dear," he said and Rory thanked him, wishing desperately that she'd brought her own car.  Screw the environment.

Finally, she and Tristan were outside, crossing the parking lot.  She dug his keys out and slid into the driver's seat.  Tristan settled himself into the passenger seat, "Rory…" he turned to her and she tried to ignore the plea in the word.  She shoved a C.D. in the stereo and cranked the volume up so that it nearly hurt her ears.  


	7. The Breaking of a Bond

Disclaimer, rating and information about spoilers can be found in the first chapter.

**Notes**: Yeah. So this update was a year in the making. Sorry that it kind of sucks. I haven't written Trory in forever and it's not at all like riding a bike. I happened to catch an episode of One Tree Hill this week (I switched to Veronica Mars, and I'm glad to have done it) and man, when did that show start to suck so badly? I started to feel bad for CMM, his star vehicle having gone downhill. And voila. More of this.

**Seven: …The Breaking of a Bond**

**January – Senior Year**

Rory left for Chilton early on the first day back after Christmas break. She even forwent a free refill at Luke's, causing Caesar to attempt to feel her forehead for signs of fever. She'd shaken him off, accepted her mother's wishes of luck, and left Stars Hollow at a speed that was slightly over the limit. When Rory had arrived at Chilton only a few cars sat in the student lot (big, expensive SUV's that she recognized as jock transport) and she settled in to wait.

Tristan had not returned her phone calls. Or her e-mails. She had even driven up to Hartford and stopped by his house. Charles, the butler, had told her that Tristan was out for the afternoon and hadn't tried to disguise the fact that he was blatantly lying. Rory left the things Tristan had forgotten, at her house, in his hasty retreat, with Charles. She'd tucked a good old fashioned handwritten letter of apology amongst them, but Tristan hadn't replied to that either.

Rory figured that before first period was her best chance to catch Tristan and make him talk to her. Inside, he could easily avoid her and use anyone of the dozens of people he was friendly with as buffers. She went over what she was going to say to him in her head. Rory had done so many times in the last few days when it had become clear that Tristan was very, very angry. She kept an eye on the entrance to the lot.

Gradually the lot filled up. Students streamed into the building and more than a few of them cast her questioning looks. She supposed it must seem strange to be sitting in her car in sub zero temperatures. Oh well. Now wasn't really an appropriate time to begin caring what the Chiltonites thought about her. Finally, Tristan's car pulled into his space beside hers. She slid across the center console and exited out the passenger door just after Tristan slammed the door to his car. There was not a lot of space available and Tristan flattened himself against the side of his car to avoid touching her. She tried to ignore how that hurt. "Tristan…" she started, her carefully planned words deserting her.

He wouldn't look at her, and the dark sunglasses he wore prevented her from reading any expression he may have had. The first bell rang. He made a show of looking at his watch. "Oh. Look at the time. Now what kind of example would we set if we were late?"

"I don't care."

"Maybe I do."

Rory rolled her eyes, "You never have before."

He smiled thinly, "There you go again. Your presumptuousness is highly unbecoming," he began to back away.

"Look, I'm sorry, okay?" she called out to him, but he didn't pause in his retreat.

Tristan fluttered his fingers at her dismissively, "Later, Madame President," and turned his back.

Rory bit her lip, realizing that getting Tristan to talk to her was going to be even harder than she thought.

**New Years Eve – Senior Year**

Tristan contemplated the line of shot glasses in front of him. There were three this time and he had no idea what they contained. The last three had been tequila, the five before that, gin. He'd had two cups of punch from a crystal bowl in the kitchen and four cans of beer. He was going to be sick tomorrow. But it was New Years Eve and he was at a party and if people kept handing him drinks, he wasn't going to turn them down. The people around him made no secret of the fact that they were enjoying the return of 'Old DuGrey' (as he was so cleverly dubbed after accepting that first line of shots). He had a hand on the thigh of a very pretty girl and another girl leaning attentively on his shoulder. He hadn't felt this numb in ages and he kind of loved it.

**January – Senior Year**

Rory had zero luck in getting Tristan alone that day. He always seemed to have someone with him and more often than not it was a girl who gave Rory a very dirty look if she made signs of approaching. Tristan wasn't overtly hostile to her, but she would almost have preferred him to be. He was icy cold and polite during the student counsel meeting Thursday afternoon and when Rory got to school on Friday she caught more than one person sneaking looks at her, only to dart their eyes away suddenly when she glanced back. Conversations lulled as soon as she was within earshot. People were talking about her, and Rory was pretty sure she knew why.

Still, there was a slight chance she was being paranoid. At lunch, she seated herself with Paris, Louise and Madeline to seek confirmation. "Alright. Tell me."

"Tell you what?" Madeline asked, playing dumb.

"Come on. Paris?"

Paris seemed to struggle internally. "You're not going to like it," she warned.

"Really? Shocking."

"Just don't shoot the messenger."

"I left my holster at home."

"People have noticed than you and Tristan aren't… close anymore, and have drawn their own conclusions." Louise told her.

"Oh. That's not too bad," Rory answered relieved.

Paris shook her head, "Oh, you poor, naïve, little soul."

Rory narrowed her eyes at Paris, "What does that mean?"

"That means that this isn't Stars Hollow. Your virtue is not above reproach to these people."

Rory laughed, "What? Do they think that we were secretly a couple and that we broke up? Ooh. Scandalous." She laughed, and tore open her bag of chips. She caught the glance between Louise and Paris. "Do people seriously believe that?"

"Yep," Madeline answered.

"Why?" Rory asked, slightly baffled.

Paris rolled her eyes, and began ticking things off on her fingers, "Number one: he spends more time in your town than he does at his own house. Number two: he hasn't participated in a random act of PDA this year; he hasn't even been on a date this year. And, oh yeah, number three: it's no great secret that he's had a thing for you since you transferred!"

"I don't understand you people."

"'Us people' teenagers, or 'us people' the economically gifted?" Louise asked.

"Both," Rory answered.

"It gets worse," Paris told her.

"Doesn't it always?"

"I'm not exactly good at the sugar coating so I'm just going to say it, okay?"

"By all means."

"Currently, the most popular rumor among the masses is that not only were you and Tristan secretly dating, but that you slept together. And that Tristan dumped you after. And that everything up till that point had been faked to…" here Paris trailed off.

"Un-Mary me?" Rory finished.

"Yeah," Paris confirmed, looking distinctly uncomfortable.

Rory stared blindly ahead, food forgotten. Madeline patted her hand. Don't worry, Rory. I'm sure no one thinks it's true."

Rory wanted to cry, but no way would she do that in the middle of the cafeteria. She scanned the room, looking for Tristan. He sat in one of the packed center tables, surrounded by guys with identical haircuts, all looking smugger than usual. "Does Tristan know?" Rory asked, "What people are saying?"

"I don't know," Paris answered.

**August – Before Senior Year**

Rory's eyes lingered on the waiter as he walked away. He was cute in a blonde, soccer player, kind of way. When her eyes drifted back to Tristan's he seemed amused. "What?" she felt her face self consciously for anything that may have been stuck to it.

"You, Rory Gilmore, were lusting!"

"What? I was not!" Her face went hot, contradicting her words.

"Oh, yes you were. You were having impure thoughts about our waiter."

"Shut up."

"Shuuut uuuup," he mocked.

"You're irritating me."

"So, Rory," Tristan began cheerily, "what were you and the waiter doing in your dirty thoughts?"

"Shhhh. People will hear."

"So? You're seventeen! If you didn't have dirty thoughts, than you'd be a freak. I have dirty thoughts all the time."

"Ugh. I do not want to hear where this is going."

"You're such a prude, Gilmore."

"And you're a creepy pervert, DuGrey."

"Oh, if you only knew."

The waiter who started this conversation headed back there way and, mercifully, Tristan did not proceed to embarrass her by elaborating.

**January – Senior Year**

Now that Rory knew what to listen for, she heard more than she wanted to. Students were getting bolder, too. When she was packing her bag up at the end of the day someone had bumped into her an issued an, "Excuse me, Mary _Magdalene_," by way of apology. Rory became angrier than she'd ever been, by the insult and the lack of cleverness put into it. She'd slammed her locker shut and left the building, not caring that she hadn't grabbed her physics textbook or the folder with her English essay drafts inside.

She made her way to the parking lot, noting nothing except the fact that Tristan's car was gone. She wrenched the door to her own car open and threw herself inside. She wasn't even wearing her coat.

She drove herself to Tristan's house, her foot heavy on the gas pedal. His car was in the driveway. Parking directly behind it, she marched up the stone steps and pounded on the front door. Charles, as usual, was the one to answer. She did not give him the chance to greet her before she fired a question at him, "Where's Tristan?"

"He's not at home."

"Bullshit, Charles," Rory replied bluntly, "his car is here. And I'm going to stand here until I talk to him."

"But Miss Gilmore, this is January. It's snowing."

"I don't care."

"You're not wearing a coat," the butler's tone was gently pleading.

"I don't care."

Charles studied her, noted the clenched fists, the angry eyes, "I could lose my job if I let you in."

"I understand."

"I'm going to send the one of the kitchen staff to the grocery store immediately. We're out of…something. Should the staff entrance around back happen to be left unlocked… well then that's not my fault."

"Thank you, Charles."

Rory skirted along the side of the building and burrowed deeper into her blazer. Not two minutes later she watched as a harried looking man bolted out of the staff entrance muttering in Spanish. She waited until he drove off and crept to the door he had just exited. It was unlocked and the corridor was empty. Rory knew which way the kitchen was, and so she took the opposite direction. She found a staircase and headed up to the second floor and, noticing a particular painting, was finally able to recognize where she was. She made her way to Tristan's room and threw open the door without knocking. It banged, hard, into the wall and he jumped up from the chair he was sprawled across. "Rory! What the hell?"

"Hey Tristan."

"How did you get in here?"

"After you had me declared persona non grata, you mean?"

He got over his shock and remembered that he'd been giving her the silent treatment for the better part of three weeks. "Yes, that's exactly what I mean. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to have you removed from the premises."

"Not yet, you're not," Rory shut the door and locked it behind her and took slow, deliberate steps to the side until she was standing directly in front of the intercom panel.

"Just leave, Rory."

"Do you have any idea what they're saying about me, about us, at school?"

Tristan shrugged noncommittally," That I became your friend to get into your pants?"

"That's it."

"I may have heard something to that affect."

"Did you confirm it?"

"Did you deny it?"

"No."

"No?" Rory blinked back tears, "No? That's great. Good to know that apparently I mean nothing to you."

"As little as I meant to you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Awfully short memory you've got there."

"God, Tristan, can't you ever just say what you mean?"

He looked her straight in the eye, for the first time in recent memory and mimicked, in a sickly sweet, high pitched tone, "'It means that I'm never going to fall in love with you.'"

Rory took a step back, stung, "I'm said that I was sorry, Tristan."

He shrugged, "Damage was done."

"So this is your revenge, then?"

"Something like that."

"I hate you!"

"Nothing I haven't heard before, Mary. Oh, wait? It's not Mary, anymore, is it?"

Rory shook her head, and laughed bitterly. "You're such a sad little boy."

"Sticks and stones. Can you see yourself out?"

"Yeah. I'm done here."

"We're done here."

* * *

Rory took the front staircase down and walked out the front door without a word to anyone of the servants she passed along the way. Her fists ached from being clenched and she was so, so tired. She got into her car and drove a few blocks away from the DuGrey house before pulling over. Her hands shook as she pulled out her cell phone and dialed her mother's number. Her mother answered on the first ring, "Darling! Where are you? I'm at Luke's, eyeing the cup of coffee I ordered for you."

"Mom."

"Rory?" Lorelai was instantly serious, "Rory what's wrong?"

"Can you come and get me?"

"Is there something wrong with the car?"

"No. Car's fine."

"Rory, honey, you're scaring me."

"Just come."

Lorelai sighed, "Where are you?" Rory rattled off the address of the house she was parked in front of. "I'll be there in half an hour. Stay put."

"Thanks, mom."

* * *

Tristan watched Rory's car go down his driveway, and then he began throwing things. Trophies, framed pictures, books, pillows, anything he could get his hands on. It was not until silence was heard from his room for a good twenty minutes that Charles dared to approach. Tristan was lying on the on the cushion-less couch. He did not acknowledge the presence of another in the room. "What happened?" Charles asked.

"Felt the urge to redecorate. Hurricane chic. Saw it on _Trading Spaces_."

"Was that Miss Gilmore's car I saw in the driveway?"

"You know it was."

"Master Tristan did you…"

"Did I what? Did I fuck things up? Of course I did."

"Why?"

"It's just what I do best, Charles."

**August – Before Senior Year**

"So why haven't you?"

"Why haven't I what?"

"Had sex?"

She should have known that Tristan of all people wouldn't let that particular conversational thread go. At least now they were in her car, not in a very public, family restaurant. "I don't know, actually. I've just never felt… ready, as after-school special as that sounds. And there's my mom and how she came to be my mom. And everything she had to give up and never got to do because she became my mom."

"And you want more."

"Yeah. I'm selfish."

"Me too."

"Ha! Understatement," but Rory smiled as she said it and it didn't hurt him. "Why did you?"

"What makes you think I have?" his attempts at coyness were met with a disbelieving snort. "I don't actually know, either. It was just something to do."

"See, I don't want that, no offense. Call me girly and old-fashioned but I want it to mean something. It doesn't have to be candlelight and roses and he doesn't have to be the love of my life, just… significant. Like I'll look back in twenty years and be glad to have done it."

"_It_ it?" he teased in a valley-girl voice, and faked a hair toss.

"Loser."

"Ow," he rubbed his shoulder, "I think I gave myself whiplash."

**January – Senior Year**

Rory didn't acknowledge Luke when he and Lorelai reached her. She just climbed into the passenger seat. Lorelai slid in behind the wheel and exchanged a worried look with Luke. "Thanks for the ride. I think I've got it from here."

"Okay. Call me if she, or you, need anything."

"I will."

Rory did not say a word on the drive home. She didn't say a word until she was sprawled out on her bed. Lorelai sat beside her, and brushed her hair away, "Is this about Tristan?"

Rory refused to cry. "I hate him, mom. I really do." The words were said quietly, but Lorelai heard them. The cold conviction with which Rory spoke made her Lorelai sadder than any tears could have. Lorelai stayed until Rory fell asleep, than crept into the living room to cancel Friday night dinner.

Despite falling asleep and 6:00 pm the day before, Rory was late to rise. When she stumbled into the kitchen she noticed her coat, and what looked like the entire contents of her locker on the kitchen table. Rory looked to her mother quizzically, "Paris stopped by last night," Lorelai exclaimed. "She said you left Chilton in a hurry."

"Yeah," Rory's voice was rough.

"She told me what happened."

"Did she now."

"She did. Rory, I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For everything. For making you go to that school. For not enrolling you in some sort of kung fu. For ever being nice to that evil little punk."

"Thanks, mom."

"What do you want to do? I can have a pitchfork wielding mob assembled in a half hour."

"That's not necessary."

"Are you sure? We can string him up in the square and throw rotten vegetables at him."

"I just want to forget about him."

"Done."

* * *

"You are such an imbecile."

Tristan groaned and focused his full attention on the morning paper in front of him. He needed to talk to his father about stepping up security. "Good morning, Paris."

"No, I'm serious. Your immense stupidity must be studied and recorded for the benefit of future generations."

"I'm sure there are other imbeciles up to the task."

"I'm not."

"Paris…"

"You're going to be miserable, you know. "

"Cross inspirational speaker off your list of possible career paths, okay?"

"What really happened, Tristan?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Nothing. I'm just sick of her."

"You're a liar."

"We're all liars."

"Ooh. Deep," Paris paused, "I've known you for a long time, Tristan."

"And?"

"And I think you need to fix this. I think you need to get up off your ass, drive to that creepy little town, grovel until she forgives you for letting everyone think you had sex, and fix whatever it is that started this."

"No."

"No?" Paris was incredulous, "That's it? No?"

"That's it."

"Then you deserve to be miserable."

* * *

Lorelai had offered Rory a get out of jail free card. An actual one, ferreted from a Monopoly game Rory didn't remember ever playing, illustrated with a crude stick figure drawing of Rory wearing stripes. Rory had declined. She wasn't going to be weak. If Tristan wanted to revert to being the bane of her existence she could revert to not caring about him. Or she could fake it, at the very least.

Paris was waiting for her at her locker and Rory was grateful. "Didn't think you'd show, Gilmore."

"And forgo the perfect attendance certificate at graduation? I think not. Thanks for dropping by with my books."

Paris waved off her thanks, "Eh. I want valedictorian fair and square. Can't let a little mental break down knock you out of the running. It just wouldn't be sporting."

"Your sense of fair play has grown by leaps and bounds."

"Well, don't expect a repeat performance."

"I am certifiably sane, promise."

"Good. I was accosted on my way out of your town by some skinny guy trying to wash my windows."

"Kirk. His mother had the internet installed and he read an article about squeegee kids in urban centers."

"Technology isn't for everyone."

* * *

It hadn't been as bad as Rory had anticipated. She was fairly well liked by her classmates, having received a sixty-four percent share of the vote in the student government elections. However, a good contingent of those votes came from those who occupied the lower rungs of Chilton's social hierarchy. Science club members. Kids in jazz band. Stoners, anti-socials, girls who ate lunch by themselves in the library. From these people she heard not a mean word, and received a few encouraging smiles. They were the majority, but they were quiet one. It was a very vocal minority (the twenty-seven percent she suspected that had voted Summer for student council president) that whispered and taunted and veiled insults with unconvincing coughs. But Rory stayed strong, and mostly ignored it. She mustered a few chillingly Emily Gilmore-esque glares that often quelled the weaker would be tormentors until gradually, within a couple of weeks, the gossip had moved past Rory and Tristan and what had happened, or didn't happen, between them. 


	8. Too Young to Keep Good Love

Disclaimer, rating and information about spoilers can be found in the first chapter.

**Notes:** It's been forever. I've started reading fic again and I went digging through my old files and found this chapter mostly done. It's completely unbeta'ed. Enjoy. Had a hard time with the title but I've been listening to lots of Jeff Buckley lately.

**Eight: Too Young to Keep Good Love **

**August – Before Junior Year**

Tristan had picked up the phone, only to put it down without dialing, three times. He picked it up again, punched in two digits, than disconnected the line again. He threw himself backwards onto his bed in frustration. He'd been calling girls since he was twelve years old, and never before had he been such a head case about it.

She'd scribbled her number on the back of a receipt. He had the items listed on the receipt memorized before he'd even picked up the phone. Rory and her mother apparently ate an appalling amount of sugar. She'd said, "Call me," and he'd been tempted to make a joke about booty calls, but had (barely) managed not to. In truth, he had been impressed with his own restraint. That had been two days ago, as she and her mother had left Martha's Vineyard (The Yard, as Lorelai had taken to calling it, complete with thug-like hand gesture). He'd returned home the next day. Generally, Tristan stuck to the three day rule when it came to calling a girl but he figured the three day rule didn't apply. He wasn't entirely certain of this, having never actually had a girl who was actually a friend and only a friend.

So why, was he acting like a band geek with a crush on the head cheerleader? It was just a phone call. Tristan sat up, and dialed, hoping that the Stars Hollow Gilmore's were quick to answer the phone. No such luck. He chickened out and hung up at the fourth ring. "Damn it!" he chucked the phone behind him, and reached for his T.V. remote.

Not five minutes later he heard the phone ring. Tristan had become engrossed in an episode of Dr. Phil (penny-pinching mother who went so far as to buy used deodorant, fascinating stuff) that he neglected to answer it. Then, the intercom buzzed and Tristan, reluctantly, got up to answer it. "What?"

"You're wanted on the phone, Sir."

"Who is it?"

"A Miss Rory Gilmore, Sir."

Shit. His brain had temporarily erased the existence of caller I.D. And 69. And reverse 411. Damn it! "I'll take it. One second," Tristan retrieved the phone, took a few deep cleansing breaths, and waited for the click of the other receiver being hung up. "Hello?"

"You rang?"

"I rang. Which you know, thanks to the miracles of modern technology."

"For future reference, you should let the phone ring a good dozen or so times. It winds up in the weirdest places."

"I will make a note." The line was silent for a moment.

Rory broke it, "This is kind of weird, right? It's not just me?"

"Not just you." Pause. Another silent moment. "So…" Tristan began.

"The ladies said you were a smooth talker."

"The ladies were lying."

"Darn. I suppose the rumor that you don't have a belly button is a lie as well?"

"Is that actually a rumor?"

"No, I just made that up."

"Good. Because that would be weird."

"I know. What's the purpose of the belly button, anyway?"

"Lint trap?" Tristan suggested.

"An extra body part to accessorize?"

"Who knew a whole conversation could revolve around belly buttons?"

"Just stick with me kid. The possible pointless conversational paths out there will amaze you."

Later, Tristan had been kind of embarrassed by the amount of time it had taken him to work up the nerve to call her. And even more embarrassed by the fact that, in the end, he'd chickened out. After the initial awkwardness they'd talked for nearly twenty minutes about absolutely nothing of importance. Rory had to go (she was meeting Dean, his shift was over and they were going to the movies), and once again Tristan was able to not make a single snide and or disparaging comment. Perhaps he was maturing.

"I'm actually glad you called, Tristan."

"I'll ignore the fact that you sound surprised, Mary. Besides, you called me."

"That's true. So, listen, I'm going to be in Hartford on Friday, do you want to meet up?"

Tristan's eyebrows shot up and he fumbled a little, "Um yeah. Sure."

"Okay. I have to go shopping. I have very particular requirements of my school supplies and Stars Hollow is not always up to the challenge. But keep that quiet."

"It'll go to the grave with me."

**April – Senior Year**

"Rory…"

"Can't talk."

"Rory..."

"Can't talk. Driving."

"You can talk and drive at the same time."

"Can't."

"Can you stop being so fucking stubborn? For two minutes."

"I'm stubborn?" she exclaimed, "I'm stubborn!"

"That's what I said."

"Oh, that's it," Rory jerked the wheel, and turned off onto a side street.

Tristan groped for something to hold on to, "Jesus, Rory. Killing us both in a horrific car accident is not going to solve anything!"

Rory didn't answer him, but merely continued driving, making turns randomly. She came across an elementary school that was deserted save for a few cars. She pulled into the lot, at the far end, away from any entrances. Rory killed the engine, and turned to him, "I get to be stubborn, Tristan. You ignored me for three weeks, when I wanted to talk, didn't you?"

Tristan ran a hand through his hair, "Rory. Come on."

"No, you come on. I said what I had to say months ago. I said I was sorry, and I meant it. If you want to talk, start talking." Tristan remained silent, "I mean it Tristan. I'm offering you ten minutes of my time. This offer is one time only and it will expire in exactly sixty seconds." She wrenched her door open and got out of the car. Her whole body was shaking and the interior of the car seemed way too small to contain all that she was feeling.

Tristan followed her example and climbed out of the car, "Rory…"

She faced him across the hood, arms crossed, "Use it or lose it, princess."

**August – Before Junior Year**

Rory shook her head at him, "You are such a princess."

"Shut up. They're good highlighters."

"Better than the," Rory counted quickly, "fourteen varieties on this shelf?"

"Way better. Fine tipped, smudge proof. Eight colors."

"Uh huh."

"You're picturing me in a tiara, aren't you?"

"Yes. And it's hilarious. You're also holding a scepter."

"You wish you looked as good in a tiara as I do, Mary." And that was the moment that the salesgirl Tristan had dispatched to the backroom to check on his highlighters returned. She looked at him, appraisingly, and Rory turned her head and giggled as silently as she could. Tristan tried to look intimidating, "Well?"

"They just came in this morning. Haven't been unpacked yet," she informed him.

Tristan opened his mouth, probably to demand that they be unpacked immediately, but Rory cut him off. "Thanks for checking, we'll stop by later," and tugged on his arm.

Reluctantly, Tristan followed her out of the store. "What was that?"

"That was me preventing you from further badgering that poor salesclerk. Who earns minimum wage, accumulates no benefits and must be harassed by people like you every day. You will henceforth be known in that store as Crazy Highlighter Guy, you know."

"Rory Gilmore: campaigner for the weak and underappreciated."

"Something like that. Now, can I treat you to a non-fat vanilla latte, hold the whipped cream? Or would you like something a little manlier?"

Tristan glared at her. Why had he wanted to be friends with Rory Gilmore again? She had moved a little ahead of him and when she turned back and smiled at him (and motioned for him to hurry up) and he remembered that he liked the way she made him feel.

**April – Senior Year**

Tristan tapped his fingers against the hood a few times. Rory watched him silently.

"Tick tock, Tristan."

"You said ten minutes." He couldn't see her feet, but he imagined she was tapping one of them impatiently.

"And, silly me, I assumed you'd use them to articulate what are doubtlessly deep and meaningful thoughts."

Tristan laughed without having reason to, "You can be such a bitch, Rory."

"Way to soften me up, jackass."

"It's impressive, is all. I didn't think you had that in you." Rory didn't answer, and Tristan continued tapping. Finally, he stopped, turned, hesitated, and walked over to her side of the car. He leaned against the driver's side door. Rory backed up a few steps and wrapped her arms more tightly around herself. Tristan looked to the side, away from her, to the grey brick of the school's exterior, though he didn't really see it. "Do you remember, that day on the beach, at Martha's Vineyard?"

Rory nodded, and he must have caught it in his peripheral vision, or else he wasn't looking for a reply, because he continued speaking, "Well, I very specifically remember promising you I had no ulterior motives. Do you remember that as well, or was that just in one of the drafts in my head?"

"No, you did say that," Rory affirmed. And her traitorous heart softened, just a little, at hearing that he had felt the need to prepare for a conversation with her.

"Well, I meant that. Not so much in the sense that I didn't like you, because I did. You know that, I know that. God. Everyone knows that. I meant it in the sense that I had no expectations of us becoming more than friends. And Jesus Christ I sound like a bad emo song. I want to punch myself in the face."

"Well, then, you might as well keep going."

Tristan glanced at her quickly, then away, but continued. "Anyway, for like a year and a half, things are good between us. We talked about shit that actually matters and I trusted you. And, yeah, there were still moments when I so badly wanted to kiss you that I had to turn away and recite the alphabet backwards. In French. But I stopped myself. At first, because I knew you didn't feel that way for me, and then later because I didn't want to fuck up what we had. Because I didn't have that anywhere else. You know what things are like with my parents. And the people I hang with at school… well for the most part they're far too annoying to spend any real time with."

"Amen, brother," Rory muttered.

"And then at Christmas…" he trailed off and Rory took a deep breath, "I spent hours trying to figure out what to get you. A book was too obvious, jewelry wouldn't have been your style and then I thought of the concert tickets.

Rory took another deep breath.

"I thought it would show how far we've come, you know? I actually knew who she was, and you would actually be wiling to go with me. And then you flipped out, and I acted like an ass…"

"And I accused you of having a hidden agenda," Rory finished.

"Yeah."

"And then you let everyone at Chilton think that you only started being nice to me so I would have sex with you."

Tristan winced, "Sort of."

"Not 'sort of,' Tristan. I want to know why."

**September – Junior Year**

Tristan was tying up his shoes up before PE when a substantial weight plopped down beside him, "DuGrey, man. Long time no see. We thought you fell down a well or some shit."

"Carpenter," Tristan greeted, "What's up?"

Breckin Carpenter was either too stupid or too self-absorbed (or some combination of the two) to notice that Tristan's tone was less than enthused.

"Nothing much, dude. Did the mandatory two weeks with the 'rents at the Naples house, than spent the rest of the summer here. Baking and bagging the many quality ladies our lovely public school system turns out."

"Cool," Tristan was non-committal. Even the not so 'quality ladies' at Chilton had ceased giving Breckin the time of day and 'baking' probably had little to do with the sun."

"What did you do?"

Tristan shrugged, "Nothing much. Went to Martha's Vineyard, as usual."

Breckin made a face, "What a waste."

"Not really."

"Oh?" Tristan cursed himself. He knew Breckin and he knew the conclusion that his tiny reptilian brain had jumped to, "Tell me more, tell me more."

"Nothing to tell."

"Really? Cause according to the rumor mill you and the Gilmore chick…"

"Rory," Tristan interrupted.

"…that Rory chick were spotted together."

"Jesus. School only started two days ago."

Breckin shrugged, unconcerned, "You know how it is. So?"

Tristan did know. He and the Chilton rumor mill were old buddies. "So nothing. We ran into each other one weekend and hung out once or twice."

"So you finally tamed the wild beast."

"What?"

"She's your unicorn."

Tristan stared at Breckin for a second. Somehow, he got the impression Breckin spent more time with his DVD player than he'd like anyone else to know.

"What?" he reiterated.

"You know, the one girl you've never been able to bag. You finally bagged."

Tristan stood up so that Breckin had to look up at him. "There was no bagging, Carpenter. And if I hear rumors to the contrary, I'll know who to blame. His tone was harsh enough that Breckin got the threat apparent in it clearly.

"Dude, relax."

Tristan backed away, "I am relaxed. But then, I wasn't patient zero in last year's little Chlamydia outbreak, was I? And I didn't sleep with the third wife of a certain schoolmate's father, did I? A certain school mates father whose dealings are allegedly more than a little shady." Tristan tossed a towel in Breckin's face and smirked. Sometimes, he really was a little evil.

**April – Senior Year**

"Why…" Tristan repeated.

"Yes, Tristan, why? Why ruin what you apparently thought of as a meaningful friendship? Why betray me? Why hurt me?"

"Because you hurt me first."

"That's so…"

"Stupid? Juvenile? Self-destructive? Like me?"

"Do I have to pick one?"

"No. I just…" Tristan steeled himself, he'd already said things he'd planned on never saying, he might as well finish, "I hated that you meant so much more to me than I did to you."

Rory took a second to process his words, "That's ridiculous, Tristan."

"Please. You made it perfectly clear that night, and a million times since then, exactly what you think of me. So that's why I didn't stop the rumors. I was proving you right. I know how much you like to be right, Mary."

The nickname was somehow more insulting right then than it ever had been before and Rory's anger, which had been tempered by the vulnerability she had perceived in him, flared back to life. She clapped her hands, "Bravo, Tristan," she said sardonically, "_Twenty Ways to Make Everything Not My Fault, _a play in one act, by Tristan DuGrey. Impressive. You'll sweep the Tony's next year."

Tristan pushed himself upright, off of the car. "I didn't say it was _all_ your fault, Rory."

"That's what it sounded like to me."

Tristan clenched his fists at his sides, she was so, so infuriating. "God, Rory, you're so…" he trailed off, frustrated.

"So what, Tristan. Finish your damn sentence!"

"It wasn't your entire fault, okay? Fifty percent your fault, sure. I lashed out, you reciprocated. You used my feelings for you, feelings that neither of us had acknowledged, against me. I left and didn't return your phone calls. I didn't correct people when they started making assumptions about us. You broke into my house. You've gone out of your way in the last few months to make me miserable. I think we're on pretty even ground as far as being despicable people goes, sweetheart."

"Tristan…"

"So don't be so damned self-righteous!"

"Tristan, just shut up and…"

"Just because your mother and your grandparents and that entire town put you on a pedestal doesn't make it real, Rory. You're spoiled and selfish and vindictive and mean and…" the barrage of words was stopped by Rory's lips.

Tristan would have liked to have pushed her away, would have liked to have continued yelling, would have liked to have been stronger than he was. His hands, still shaky with anger, found her hair and twined themselves around it, changing the angle of the kiss as he swiped his tongue along her lower lip, causing her lips to part. His tongue sought hers and one hand wandered down her back, pulling her more firmly to him as he leaned back onto his car.

Rory had kissed Tristan before, sweetly, tentatively, on a piano bench so long ago. And she'd imagined kissing him more times than she'd ever admit but this was like nothing she could've imagined. One of her hands was on his neck, holding him to her, the other fisted in his shirt. She used her body to trap him against the car. Rory had started this because she was angry. She had only wanted him to listen to her and now found herself completely unable to stop. She felt his hand creeping up again, under her cardigan, toying with the zipper at the side of her dress; she tore her lips from his when she felt his other on the bare skin of her thigh. No way was she going to let him win. She yanked his tie off and attached her lips to his throat, just above his collarbone and allowed her teeth to scrape his skin. His head fell back and he hissed her name and she laughed, glorying in a power she'd never felt this strongly before.

His eyes narrowed and caught hers. His fingers closed around the zipper and he raised his eyebrows in a challenging way. Rory stared back, refusing to be intimidated. Before Tristan could decide whether or not to continue, Rory's cell phone rang. Rory took a step back and Tristan pushed away from the car and followed her, his hands at her hips, maintaining contact between their bodies.

Rory brought a hand up to his chest to push him away, "My phone…" she trailed off as her hand rested where his heart was and she felt how quickly it was pounding.

He leaned in and his teeth grazed her earlobe, his tongue flicking out to taste the skin just below. "I know," his voice was low and rough and she shivered and leaned into him a little bit more, "Just… don't run, Rory. Okay?"

Rory found she was unable to speak so she nodded. That must have been good enough for him because he backed a couple steps away from the car. It took her a moment, but she managed to open the car door and dig her cell out of her purse. It was her mother, of course. Rory steeled herself, "Hello?" Good, good. She sounded more or less normal.

"Rory? What's wrong?" So, she sounded less than normal, apparently.

"Nothing."

"You sound funny."

"Really? Maybe I haven't transitioned back from schmooze Rory," Rory brought her hand up and banged her forehead against it. Being spectacularly un-witty was not the way to convince her mother that everything was hunky dory.

"If you say so," Lorelai spoke slowly, clearly not the least bit fooled. "Is it Tristan? If he did anything to you, you tell me. I'm fully willing to kick his ass."

"Mom," Rory protested, chancing a glance at Tristan. He had wandered a few feet away and was facing away from her. "It's fine." She flushed. She didn't want to explain that while Tristan _had_ done something she'd started it. Especially when he was standing within earshot.

"Seriously. I'll have to go home and change my shoes first, because these are too nice to sully with violence. But I'm sure I've got some ugly yellow rain boots somewhere."

"Not necessary. Promise."

"Alright. Where are you?"

"Still in Boston. We got held up."

"Held up…" Lorelai blatantly fished for more info.

"Just held up. Look, I'll be a little late for dinner, but we'll talk afterward."

"I'm counting on that, kid."

"Love you, mom."

"Love you too, bye."

Rory hung up, and sighed. Tristan turned to face her. "Look, Tristan, can we just get in the car?"

"Rory…"

"I know. I know, okay? I'm not running. I just... I just need a little time. To think. So much happened that I wasn't expecting when I rolled out of bed this morning. I need to think. Please?"

He was quiet for a long moment, studying her intently, "Okay," he made his way to the passenger side door and got in.

Rory ran a hand through her hair, "Okay."


End file.
